Theory of Everything
by KittyUK
Summary: Sportacus and Stephanie belong together. Who's keeping them apart and why? A whole lotta Sportasteph for the romantics out there. Rated M for adult themes, sexual content and language. Please do R&R and thanks to all who have so far...
1. Prologue Moon and Stars

**Prologue - Moon and Stars**

The day of the funeral was warm, bright and windy. She could feel her hair blowing and tangling behind her as, flanked by the two adults, she walked across the green grass towards the two open graves. Reverend Jackman, splendid and solemn in his billowing black robe, shook her hand.

"Hello, my dear," he said. "We haven't met for such a long time, have we? But I've never forgotten you." His eyes strayed to that extra-ordinary hair, waist length now and billowing out behind her in long pink streamers. "It's - Sophie, isn't it?"

"Stephanie," she corrected him gently. "But it's very nice to see you again, sir."

"Ah yes, of course…so sorry. Stephanie. Forgive me. And you, sir, you're the…brother?"

"Ah, cousin, actually," her uncle replied apologetically. "My mother and his father were brother and sister. I'm Meanswell, Milford Meanswell. And this is Miss Busybody."

"Pleased to meet you, Mr Meanswell, Miss Busybody. I'm sorry it had to be in these tragic circumstances. And will there be anyone else - ?"

"No," said Bessie quickly.

"Well, in that case, maybe we should begin." He cleared his throat. "There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven. A time to be born, and a time to die. A time to plant and a time to uproot. A time to weep, and a time to laugh: a time to mourn, and a time to dance."

Stephanie stood between the comforting presences of her uncle and Bessie and let the words wash over her. She had known as soon as she saw the look on her uncle's face, that day in the kitchen, that he had something terrible to tell her, and she had run forward and clutched at his hands, silently begging him to tell her who it was. _Is it Trixie? Ziggy? Is it - is it Sportacus…?_

"Oh, my dear," he said, holding her hands between his own and looking into her eyes. "Oh, my dearest girl. I'm so, so sorry to have to tell you this. My dearest, it's your parents…there was an accident…" and he folded his arms around her as she buried her face against his shoulder, not crying, but shivering helplessly from head to foot. Quivering with sorrow, and also, shockingly, relief: _it wasn't him. Of all the people I love, it was the ones I could best spare…_ she buried her face in the familiar softness of his awful beige suit, feeling the shame burn into her bones: thank you, thank you, for not letting it be anyone else.

"A time to kill and a time to heal," intoned Reverend Jackman, glancing curiously at the trio over the top of his spectacles. "A time to tear down and a time to build." He could still remember Stephanie's christening, sixteen years ago now but vivid in his memory, as so many long-past days were as he grew older. Like the funeral today, there had been just two adults and this one little girl, now almost a woman, pale and sad today as was only to be expected, but so beautiful. As he had poured the water over her forehead, the tightly fitted little white cap had come off, disclosing a shock of raspberry pink fuzz covering her scalp, and she had howled angrily as the water trickled down the back of her neck. He had glanced involuntarily at their faces, amazed and deeply shocked: _surely they hadn't coloured it - ? A baby only a few months old?_ - and had found Stephanie's mother gazing defiantly back at him. "It's just how it grows out of her head," she said, taking her baby back out of his arms and rocking her, and they had none of them, ever, referred to it again.

"We gather here today to lay to rest these bodies, knowing that we commit to the earth only that which is of the earth…"

Milford coughed and glanced sideways at Stephanie, standing composed and silent beside him. In his mind she was still the breathlessly enthusiastic eight-year-old who had romped into town and straight into his heart eight years ago, and it came as a daily surprise to realise she was now almost as tall as he was. She was being so brave, he thought tenderly, standing so still and steadfast on this terrible occasion. He hoped it would not be long before she was laughing and joyful once again. She was growing up, and now he was all she had: he was terribly afraid he would not be enough. It was time he finally overcame his diffidence and asked Bessie the question he had never quite dared to put to her. She needed a mother…

Bessie longed to put her arm around Stephanie and give her a comforting squeeze, but decided at the last second that it was not really her place. All that touchy-feely business had never really been her forte, she thought ruefully. But now was no time to be weak, no time to hesitate. It was time to accept the offer that she knew Milford would shortly lay at her feet, after years of waiting and wondering and finally not quite daring. They both needed her now.

"…in Jesus' name, amen." Reverend Jackman closed his book and nodded at Stephanie. "My dear, if you're ready…?"

Stephanie walked forward to the raw black edge of the graves, and looked down at the two coffins for a moment before dropping a long-stemmed pink rose onto each of the shining wooden lids.

"Goodbye, mum," she said softly. "Goodbye, dad."

The train journey back to Lazytown seemed to go on for ever, the slow rocking rhythm of the train soothing her into a trance of boredom. On the seats opposite, her uncle and Bessie discreetly held hands under the table. "Stephanie, dear," Milford had said to her at the station as they queued for tickets, "I just want you to know that you won't ever be on your own. You're all the family I've got, and I'll take care of you from now on. And, and - I hope you don't think this is a bad time to tell you this, but - I'm very pleased to say that Miss Busybody - that Bessie - that I have asked her to do me the honour of being my wife, and she has accepted." In spite of the queue of impatient customers and the endless tannoy announcements of train arrivals and departures, his happiness was shining out of him like sunshine and lighting up the platform. "So we'll do our very best to give you a proper family home, my dear."

She hugged him, longing to tell him but you've always given me a proper family home, but afraid he would take it as disapproval. "That's wonderful news, Uncle Milford," she said instead, smiling as cheerfully as she could manage, trying to persuade the worried look off his face. "I'm so pleased. Bessie, Uncle Milford says you're engaged! That's so exciting."

"We thought we'd have the ceremony as soon as possible," her uncle said, taking Bessie's hand and squeezing it. "There's a train that goes to Smallville tomorrow morning at ten o'clock. We can go before the Mayor at eleven o'clock and be back in Lazytown for lunch."

"But, Bessie, don't you want - ?" Stephanie hesitated. "It's such an important day for you both, are you sure you don't want something a little bit…bigger?" Her uncle looked stricken, but Bessie had shaken her head and said firmly, "No, Stephanie dear; we wouldn't feel right planning a big wedding so soon after your parents' deaths. And really, at our age, and after all this time…we'd be much happier with just a simple ceremony before the Mayor of Smallville. And, dearest, if you feel up to it - we'd be so thrilled if you would be one of our witnesses…and I do hope you'll feel able to call me Auntie Bessie." She touched Stephanie's cheek gently, then bent and kissed her: an awkward peck that didn't quite make contact, but the intention was loving.

Stephanie found it touching and strangely comforting to watch them, sitting quietly on the train and holding hands as if it was something faintly naughty they were getting away with. It was good that something so absolutely right and happy was going to come out of the pointless, tragic accident that had taken her parents' lives.

The train swayed and rattled, on and on, taking her away from the city she had always referred to as home, back towards the place that had truly been home from the moment she had first arrived there.

Bessie came home with them and cooked them all dinner, bustling and rattling and muttering round the kitchen, flapping off Milford's offers of help but smiling gratefully when Stephanie silently handed her the things she needed. "See?" she whispered in the girl's ear. "We're already a team." And Stephanie smiled back, determined that she would do all she could to make Bessie feel welcome in her new home. Finally, after the dishes had been washed and stacked and Bessie and Milford were sitting, upright and uneasy looking, on the very edge of the sofa, she said tentatively, "If you don't mind, I think I'll go to bed? Goodnight Uncle Milford…goodnight - Aunt Bessie," and made her escape.

Finally alone in her room, Stephanie felt her body go limp with relief. She could hear Bessie and her uncle talking on the porch outside, but not what they were saying - presumably they were finalising the arrangements for the wedding tomorrow. Then there was a little pause as they kissed, and "Goodnight, Bessie," "Goodnight, Milford," floated out into the warm summer night.

Stephanie lay on her bed, then got up again, numb with exhaustion but unable to sleep. She had not slept properly since the day she heard the news. Her chest was tight and painful with the tears she had been unable to shed. Across the street, Trixie's light was still on, and Stephanie wondered whether to flash her their old signal - three short blinks of the torch, _can you come over so we can talk?_ - but decided against it. Instead, she slid open her window, climbed through and landed softly in the flowerbed below.

At this time of night, this part of Lazytown was hers entirely. The new families who were moving into the town almost weekly hadn't changed its fundamentally placid nature. People still left their doors unlocked and went to bed early; in all the years they had been climbing through each other's bedroom windows for secret girly conversations, Trixie and Stephanie had never been caught. She wandered down the street to their old treehouse, faded and weathered now but still safe as long as you didn't move around too much, and on an impulse climbed up the ladder and ducked inside…

She knew he was there even before he said, tentatively, "Stephanie?" He had always known when she was in trouble, always knew exactly what she needed. He slid gracefully in through the low entrance of the treehouse and sat down next to her without speaking. And, because he hadn't asked that same terrible question everyone had been asking her since the moment her uncle broke the news, she was able to turn to him, and say, "Oh, Sportacus - it was awful - " and then finally, sobbing and shuddering, she burst into tears and hid her face against his broad chest.

He held her firmly against him while she cried and cried and cried, waiting until the storm passed. Finally she lifted her head and said, shakily, "Sportacus, I'm so sorry - "

He hushed her with one finger over her lips. "Stephanie, you have absolutely nothing to be sorry about."

She loved the way he said her name, that distinctive accent caressing each separate syllable. And again, because he hadn't asked, she was suddenly able to tell him the feelings that had been haunting her.

"I feel awful because I don't feel worse," she said. "I mean, they were my parents, I loved them, but I've hardly seen them except just for holidays the last eight years. When Uncle Milford told me he had something terrible to tell me, I was so afraid it was going to be someone else, someone from Lazytown, and then when it was them I was so relieved…when I was little, I sometimes used to pretend that this really was my home and I was going to live here forever and never have to go back to the city." She hesitated. "I just hope that - that they knew I did love them - and I'd never, ever have wished that if I'd thought about what would have to happen for it to be true…" her voice wobbled again.

Without hesitation, as if she were still eight years old, he put an arm around her shoulder and looked into her face, his blue eyes earnest and glowing. "You know," he said gently, "your parents chose for you to come and live here. I never met them, but I know they must have loved you very much, and wanted you to be happy. Do you think maybe they might have chosen this place for you to live because they knew how happy you'd be here?" He smiled. "Sometimes our home is not necessarily the place we start out from."

His smile was so beautiful that she couldn't help smiling back. "Oh, guess what? Uncle Milford asked Bessie to marry him, and she said yes. They're taking the train over to Smallville tomorrow to get married. They asked me to be a witness."

"He asked her? Fantastic! He told me he was going to." He glanced down at her. "You are pleased?"

"I'm glad they're both so happy," she replied slowly. "It just seems strange, after all this time…somehow I never thought they'd actually get together, you know?"

"Sometimes relationships take time," he replied. The words hung on the air, taking on an unexpected significance that stretched over the silence between them. She glanced shyly up at him through her lashes, and caught the tail end of a look that melted her down to her toes, before he hastily looked away again, leaving her wondering if she had imagined it.

To cover her embarrassment, she said, "You know, you've never really talked about your home."

He laughed. "Well, my home I would actually say is here…but where I started from…" he gazed out across the darkness of Lazytown Park. "It's very different from Lazytown, but so beautiful. Over there at this time of year, the sun stays up almost until midnight, and you can see wild ponies playing in the sunshine. They kick up their heels like little girls and boys, and run for miles, just for the joy of it. But I think it's most beautiful in winter, when there's snow on the ground three feet thick. Then the sun doesn't come up until nearly noon, and when it rises, it stays low in the sky, so all the snow around you looks like frozen gold." He sighed. "And when the sun goes down again, and the moon rises, the stars are so cold and bright in the sky - they are different there, but some of them are the same - the Big Dipper, except we call it The Plough, and the North Star, and the belt of Orion. Some nights near to Christmas you can see the Northern Lights - I don't think you have them here, but they hang in the sky in great sheets of light, dancing and flickering…"

The sound of his voice was hypnotic and comforting. She leaned drowsily against him, while he continued talking.

"The house I was born in is near the sea, by a black, pebbled beach that looks out onto the Atlantic. The sea is dark and cold and wonderful, and it crashes against the shore day and night. In my country you're never far from the sea, not even in the great city that your people built to live in…"

She wanted to ask him what he meant by _your people_, but she was so warm and comfortable she couldn't find the energy. After days of sleeplessness, she finally felt herself drifting, drifting, sliding softly beneath dark waves of water that washed up on a cold and rocky shore…

_His arms were around her, and he was kissing her, slowly but firmly. His tongue parted her lips and slid exquisitely into her mouth, setting her senses on fire. She kissed him back, pressing her body close to him, feeling every part of his taut, muscled body hard and insistent against hers. With one hand, he stroked her hair back from her face and she moaned with joy, hardly daring to believe it was finally happening. "Oh, Stephanie darling," he groaned. "Stephanie…"_

"Stephanie?" Suddenly, she was completely awake. She was lying in the tree-house, with her head pillowed in Sportacus's lap, chilly except where her body rested against his. He was gently stroking her face, trying to wake her up. The sun was rising over the castle on the hill.

"I didn't want to disturb you," he said, looking embarrassed. "You fell asleep in my arms, and you looked so tired that I hadn't got the heart to move you. I hope you're not too cold…"

_Oh, no, not cold, never with you to keep me warm._ She smiled and shook her head, hoping he hadn't been able to guess what she was dreaming about. "I'm fine."

"Come on. I think I need to get you home safely." Not quite daring to look at each other, they climbed down the ladder. Then he took her chilly hand in his big, broad, warm one and they sprinted across the park, through the dewy grass and over the beds of half-opened roses, and back to her still-open window. He lifted her up to the windowsill, his hands on her waist feeling strange for the first time as they looked at each other shyly, unsure of what to say.

"I'll see you at the wedding," he said at last, and then he was away, flipping and tumbling across the streets of the slumbering town towards his air-ship, parked just above the park.

Later, when they met at the wedding and smiled at each other as Bessie and Milford took their vows, neither of them mentioned it.

Sometimes, relationships take time…


	2. Chapter One Just A Little Bit Longer

Chapter One - Just A Little Bit Longer

…and now it was more than two years later, and she was still waiting.

Stephanie looked at her reflection critically in the mirror. Trixie had worked miracles with her impossible hair, piling and twisting it into a faux-casual bundle on the back of her head, with artful tendrils coiling down her neck and coming to rest on her collar-bone. The dress - Trixie again, nagging and nagging until Stephanie, laughing, had finally given in and bought it - was casual but pretty, clinging softly in what she hoped were the right places. The shoes were completely ridiculous and murder to walk in, but ravishing. If they got too painful, she could always take them off and go barefoot.

"Not bad, Pinkie," said Trixie, putting her arms around Stephanie and leaning against her affectionately. "It's a good thing I don't do pretty. You're way too much competition." She sat next to Stephanie and admired herself in the mirror. "But as it is…you can have your pick of the poor little innocents who like strawberry and vanilla, and I'll pick up the wild ones who want something a little darker and more sophisticated." She smiled provocatively at the reflection in the mirror: a dark-haired, almond-eyed minx with her hair twisted into gamine bunches, dressed in a vintage black lace dress, stripy tights and heavy black shoes. "Oh, wait - you need one more curl at the back here." She took up the curling iron and wound a long pink tendril around it.

"So…" she continued. "Is there anyone special we're making an effort for tonight?" She paused dramatically. "I don't suppose this has anything to do with…_Ziggy_?" They both laughed. Ziggy's on-again-off-again crush on Stephanie, interspersed with spells of passionate devotion to the newest pretty girl to join the ever-expanding high school, had been a joke between the three of them for years. Stephanie had promised him that if he and she were still single when she was thirty, she'd marry him.

"No? Not Ziggy? Okay, then. Let's think. Oh, oh, oh - could it be that you've finally seen the light about the beautiful Richie Steadman? Come on, Pinkie, even you have to admit that he is obscenely cute. And he really likes you."

"Stop dangling him in front of me!" Stephanie laughed. "You just want me to start seeing him so you can get it on with his equally cute friend, what's his name, Steve? Dave? Well, you can do your own dirty work. Not interested. Not in him."

Trixie glanced curiously at Stephanie, wondering if at last she was going to open up and talk to her best friend about Sportacus. Trixie liked to watch people, and it had been obvious to her for years how Stephanie and Sportacus felt about each other. She had watched, fascinated and slightly envious, as a little girl's passionate devotion to her best friend changed into something sweeter, deeper, wilder. She could tell from the way Stephanie went quiet whenever someone mentioned his name, from the way she came to life when they were together, from her complete obliviousness to the approaches of virtually every cute boy they met, plus plenty who weren't cute at all. (Only Stingy and Pixel had never bothered to try asking her out; like Trixie, they had spotted years ago how the land lay.) As for Sportacus, Trixie promised herself that if she ever saw a man look at her with a tenth of the passion that was in his eyes when he looked at Stephanie, she would marry him on the spot. A few weeks ago, Trixie had seen them rehearse for the children's dance class they taught on Saturday afternoons, and had found herself getting quite seriously turned on by the beautiful picture they made as they moved together, graceful and yearning, touching and holding and brushing against each other, but never for long enough.

But then he always looked away again…

Then, there had been that very strange day when she had woken up early and seen the two of them running down the street, hand in hand, and Sportacus helping Stephanie in through her bedroom window. For weeks afterwards she had waited for Stephanie to tell her what had been going on, but she never had. What had they been up to? Had they spent the night together? And, if they had, why on earth did they only do it once? Trixie knew if she herself had ever managed to get inside that airship and peel the cobalt blue suit off that immaculately sculpted form, she would have been back for more so fast it would have made both of their heads spin. She looked questioningly at Stephanie, but she had dropped her eyes shyly. Not going to tell me this time either…Trixie sighed and unwound the curl, expertly twisting it around her fingers.

"Oh, did I tell you?" Stephanie said. "Pixel and Stingy have found an apartment in Boston. We've got a standing invitation to go whenever we want."

"Lovely," said Trixie sarcastically. "Geeky MIT frat-boy parties, kegs of beer, and disgusting socks all over the place. I'd rather sleep in the car."

"Stingy won't leave socks."

"No, but Pixel will."

"And Stingy will nag him until he picks them up again," said Stephanie reasonably. "Either that, or Pixel will invent some sort of auto-sock that takes itself to the laundry as soon as it needs washing."

"Ha. No need to invent that. They could probably walk down there on their own as it is."

"Stephanie, dear?" called Bessie from the living-room. "It's time we were going…"

"I'd better go too," said Trixie, "being as I'm not officially here to start with. See you at the party." She blew a kiss at Stephanie as she climbed over the window-sill. "Don't mess up the hair. And don't take your shoes off if your feet start hurting. Beauty is pain."

"You know, you could come in and out through the door," Stephanie pointed out. "Bessie's always pleased to see you."

"You know me, Pinkie…I don't like to keep to the rules." Trixie winked, and vanished.

It seemed as though all of the town had gathered to watch the ceremony, as well as the civic visitors from Smallville and the team of engineers. Stephanie looked around her discreetly, trying to spot Sportacus, but she couldn't see him. But Pixel waved frantically at her from next to the table laid with huge bowls of fruit punch, so she waved back and made her way through the crowd.

"Hey, Stephanie," he said, looking her up and down admiringly. "Did your uncle finish writing his speech?"

"Well, it certainly got finished," said Stephanie carefully. Pixel groaned.

"Bessie wrote it, didn't she? That means we'll all be here till midnight. Hey, did you hear? Stingy and I found an apartment at last. So we're all set…today Lazytown, tomorrow MIT, next week we conquer the world! Or that's Stingy's plan, anyway."

"Stingy told me...are you looking forward to it?" She glanced discreetly over his shoulder, but still couldn't see Sportacus.

"Oh, I just want to spend all my time working on cool stuff, and let someone else worry about making money from it. And I'd rather work for Stingy than some Silicon Valley blue-chip. Apparently we'll both be millionaires in three years." He laughed. "Although I think if I hadn't agreed to go in with him on Six Thousand Ideas Ltd he'd probably still be a millionaire in three years anyway."

"Oh, at least," Stephanie agreed. "But then he'd have no-one to bicker with…it's so great that it's happening for you both." Over Pixel's shoulder, she suddenly caught sight of Sportacus, playing basketball with a gaggle of youngsters waiting for their turn on the carousel. "Do it again, do it again!" they begged him, and he laughed, turned his back on the basketball hoop and threw the ball over his shoulder. It flew straight down through the hoop without touching the sides. They all applauded.

"I can see Bessie looking for you," said Pixel suddenly. "And she's got a woman, the wife of the Mayor of Smallville, what's her name, Mrs Steadman, under her wing. I'd make a run for it if I were you. Go on, I'll divert them." He stepped swiftly into their path. "Miss Busybody, I mean Mrs Meanswell, have you seen this? It's my latest invention. Look, you plug it into your phone…"

Stephanie ducked discreetly through the crowds, towards where she had last seen Sportacus…and was caught almost at once by her Uncle and Mayor Steadman.

"Ah, Stephanie, there you are," Uncle Milford beamed. "Mayor Steadman, I don't know if you remember my niece, Stephanie. Stephanie, you know that Mayor Steadman will be joining me in the ground-breaking ceremony this evening, don't you? And I believe his son Richard is around here somewhere…"

Stephanie shook Mayor Steadman's hand. He was like an eerie parallel-universe copy of Uncle Milford: vague, affable, charmingly inefficient, terminally henpecked by his formidable wife (who, now she came to think of it, was like an eerie parallel-universe copy of Auntie Bessie). "So nice to see you again," he said, patting her hand kindly. "My, my, you must be almost grown-up now. Let me see, will you be going to college this year?"

"Oh, Stephanie has a place at the Dance Conservatoire in Metropolis," said Uncle Milford proudly. "We'll miss her so much, but such an opportunity, you know."

"What a co-incidence. Richie will be just nearby, at Metropolis School of Political Science. Maybe you too will become friends. I'll see if I can find him. Look, he's over there - oh my, look at that!" Marie, the prettiest girl in her school year and one of Ziggy's many crushes, had climbed up into a tree to try and dislodge the basketball from the branches. She was as lithe and agile as a cat, but the tree had caught out many of the Lazytown children over the years. As they watched, their hearts in their mouths, Marie lost her footing and slipped. She screamed in shock, hanging in space with one hand and one leg hooked over a branch. Her friends clustered round the base of the tree, imploring her to hang on, but she was slipping…then out of nowhere Sportacus cartwheeled across the grass and caught her as she fell.

"You know, you really should be more careful," he chided her gently as he set her back on her feet. Marie glanced flirtatiously up at him through her heavy dark hair with huge eyes as black as sloes, but he just flashed her his warm, guileless and completely oblivious smile and back-flipped away across the lawn. Drooping, she returned to her friends, who welcomed her into the group with squeals and giggles.

"He is _sooo_ cute…" one of them laughed.

"Yeah, but what good is it when he doesn't even notice you?" Marie replied sadly.

Watching with deep interest from the sidelines, Jennifer Steadman turned to Bessie Meanswell and nodded approvingly.

"I see what you mean, dear," she said. "So absolutely…how can I put it…_sans peur et sans reproche_. Quite a hero, in fact."

"Oh, we're all so very fond of Sportacus," said Bessie, her mind clearly not on the subject. "He's always taken such wonderful care of the children. Never a moment's doubt, not a moment. Even now that the town's expanding so marvellously, and there are so many more of them - quite wonderful, really. I wonder, though, Jennifer dear, is Richie here tonight? I was hoping we might introduce him to Stephanie…"

"From what he's said, I think they've already met. And he was quite struck with her, I believe." They caught each others' eye, and Jennifer laughed guiltily. "Oh, Bessie, we are such a pair of conniving old women, aren't we?"

Bessie didn't laugh: she stirred thoughtfully at her drink with the tip of her paper umbrella.

"Well, of course, I wouldn't dream of putting any pressure on Stephanie," she said. "But Richie is such a nice young man, and just her age, just the sort of young man anyone would be so thrilled for their daughter to choose…and Smallville will be so much closer once this marvellous monorail link is built…and if they do seem to like each other…surely there can't be any harm. Stephanie's always been like my own child to me, you know."

"Is she your stepdaughter then? I hadn't realised."

"Actually she's my niece…my niece by marriage. Her parents were…rather rackety, and Stephanie lived with her uncle, that's Milford you know, on and off from when she was eight years old, so I've known her for most of her life. Then when she was orphaned, just about two years ago - the summer Milford and I got married, in fact - she came to live with us permanently."

"Goodness," said Jennifer. "I didn't know. How lucky that she had you and Milford to take care of her."

"I sometimes think we don't do enough to take care of our young people," said Bessie rather sadly. "I wish, when I had been growing up, someone had thought to warn me about - " she stopped suddenly, and took a swallow of her drink.

Jennifer glanced at her new friend curiously, but didn't like to pry.

Standing by the carousel, Stephanie wondered if she was ever going to find a chance to speak to Sportacus. She had the impression that he was trying to reach her, too, but every time they came close to each other someone from school would grab her and draw her into another excited conversation about college, or one of the children would climb up the tree again and have to be rescued for the thousandth time that summer, or Robbie Rotten, minimally disguised as a waiter, would be caught trying to spike the punch, or Bessie would take Sportacus's elbow and proprietorially lead him off to meet yet another curious visitor from Smallville. She could see him now, being led meekly off to shake hands with the chief engineer of the monorail project. For a moment she caught his eye and he gave her a giant wink over his shoulder.

"Hey, Pinkie," said Trixie, appearing suddenly by her side. "Look who I found for you to talk to, and oh, whoops, I think I can see Pixel waving to me…see you later, Richie, make sure you both behave yourselves." She wriggled her fingers at them and danced away into the crowd.

Stephanie and Richie smiled at each other wryly.

"Well, that was subtle," he said, smiling at her. He was very good-looking, she had to admit: tall and lanky and athletic, black hair flopping into big green eyes.

"I'm sorry," she laughed. "Trixie's idea of a joke. But don't feel like you have to play along. If you want, we can just stand here in awkward silence for five minutes and then both pretend we're seen someone we know."

"And break Mrs Meanswell's heart? And my mother is probably going to lock me in my room for, like, a million years if I come away from this party without at least trapping you into coming to the movies with me. Face it, Steph, we're going to have to give in to all this pressure some time, just to get them off our backs."

She liked the graceful way he handled the ridiculous behaviour of their elders. She knew he liked her, liked her far more than he wanted her to see, liked her so much he was compelled to hide it behind a façade of teasing friendship. She could see how it would be easy to slip into a comfortable routine of twice-weekly double dates with Trixie and Richie's friend Steve, meeting up in the autumn when they were both alone in the big city. But, but, but…

"Actually, Steph, I'm glad I've got you on your own. You see…look, don't think I'm coming on to you, okay? But the thing is, you know my friend Steve? Well, he really, really likes Trixie - "

"Hey, really? That's great, she really likes him, too."

"You sure? Well, that makes it easier then. You see, I'd like to set them up on a date, but I don't want it to look really obvious, and I was wondering if you'd come with me and be my date so we can all go together. Nothing heavy, I promise, we're strictly going along for the ride." He grinned. "Unless you suddenly decide that you can't resist me. In which case I'll do my best to oblige."

For a second it crossed Stephanie's mind that this was exactly the kind of idea Trixie would come up with if she was trying to set her up on a date with Richie, but she dismissed it.

"As long as you know what you're letting yourself in for," she said.

"You're going to pin me down in the back seat of my car and have your wicked way with me?"

"No, but we're both going to have to watch Trixie wrap him round her little finger, and then put the pieces back together when she gets tired of him two months later. She's a heart-breaker, you know."

"I'm sure Steve will be man enough to cope. I tell you what, though, Steph, let's make a deal, okay? Let's not tell our parents it's all in the cause of getting Trixie and Steve together, I couldn't stand to see the disappointment in their faces. And let's make it next Friday."

"Deal." They shook hands and smiled at each other.

"You owe me," Stephanie whispered into Trixie's ear five minutes later.

"Why? What have you done?"

"Next Friday night, a double date with Steve and Richie. Don't look at me like that, Trixie, I'm still not interested in him, okay? I told him and I'm telling you."

"Whatever you say, Pinkie," said Trixie demurely, smiling into her fruit punch, which Steve had freshened up for her with a shot of bourbon from his hip-flask. She hated waste, and watching two unbelievably beautiful men both failing to make any headway with Stephanie was more than she could stand.

The tannoy crackled, and a positive horde of people trooped onto the podium.

"Here come the speeches," whispered Stephanie. "I warn you, Auntie Bessie wrote my Uncle's." Trixie groaned. Everyone settled down and prepared to be gently bored.

"My dear fellow citizens of Lazytown," Mayor Meanswell began, looking benignly out over the heads of the crowd. "It is indeed a huge pleasure to welcome you all to this wonderful occasion, the breaking of ground for the new monorail to run between Lazytown and Smallville. As we reach this historic milestone in the life of our little town - although indeed, as we welcome more and more new residents into the Lazytown way of life, "little town" will soon no longer be the right expression - as we reach this historic milestone, it seems appropriate to reflect on some of the values which have brought us to where we are today."

Stephanie stifled a yawn, and glanced over her shoulder. Then suddenly she saw him, caught in a rare moment of stillness, arms folded, back straight, at the very back of the crowd. "See you later," she whispered to Trixie, who watched her disappear through the crowd, eyebrows raised.

"Sportacus?" Stephanie whispered.

"Stephanie?" He turned and smiled at her, then looked again in admiration.

"Want to get out of here?" she whispered.

"Do you think anyone will mind?" he whispered back.

"Let's chance it." They slipped quietly away across the park. From the podium, Bessie watched them go, and frowned so ferociously that Milford lost the thread of what he was saying, dropped his notes and had to start the middle section of his speech again.

They climbed to the top of the hill and sat down in the shadow of the old ruined castle. The applause of the crowd came to them on the breeze. After spending the whole evening trying to find a few moments to spend together, they suddenly couldn't think of a thing to say to each other.

"I heard that Pixel and Stingy have found somewhere to live in Boston," said Sportacus at last, breaking the silence.

"That's right. I can't imagine how Stingy's going to cope with Pixel's nacho crumbs…or how Pixel will get on living with someone who irons his socks…but I suppose they'll work it out somehow. Oh, and did you hear about Ziggy? He's going round telling everyone he finally knows what he wants to be when he grows up."

"But that's great news. What is he going to be?"

"A dentist."

"What? A _dentist_? Ziggy?" There was a pause while they both tried to picture Ziggy giving dental advice to small children. "Well, if it's what he really wants to do, I'm sure he will be a wonderful - a wonderful - dentist." She could see he was hugely amused, but trying not to show it. "And how about Trixie?"

"She still wants to go to Japan for six months before she starts college. Harvard have agreed to defer her place for a year, so she's going to stay on in the salon for the time being to get the money together, and then she'll be off." Stephanie sighed. "I'll miss her so much."

"But she'll be following her dream," said Sportacus gently.

"I know." They were silent again, watching Mayor Meanswell finally step down from the podium and Mayor Steadman take his place. Stephanie glanced at Sportacus out of the corner of her eye, and saw that he was staring at her. His hand was resting next to hers: she could feel its warmth even though they were not quite touching. She turned her face up towards his. He touched her lightly under the chin, raising his eyebrows questioningly, as if he was asking for permission. She closed her eyes…

…his mouth on hers were gentle and sweet, the kiss just this side of innocence. She could feel his hand against the side of her neck, and thought she would dissolve with the bliss of his touch, just crumble into fragments and drift away on the breeze.

"Is this okay?" he whispered, looking straight into her eyes.

Instead of answering, she leaned forward and kissed him back. This time it was warmer and deeper, and she felt his hands slide around her waist to draw her closer against him. She felt her breath coming faster…

As if someone was doing it on purpose, Sportacus's crystal beeped. He rolled his eyes in exasperation.

"Oh, you have got to be kidding me," he said, gently pushing Stephanie away. "Stephanie, I'm sorry…"

"It's okay," she said. "Really. I understand." He smiled ruefully, then picked up her hand and kissed the palm of it hard, and cart-wheeled across the field. Watching him go, Stephanie felt like doing cartwheels herself.

Bessie was standing at the foot of the tree, poking ineffectually at it with a parasol to try and dislodge the basketball. Sportacus vaulted off the back of the podium, somersaulted over the branch of the tree, dislodging the ball with his foot, landed lightly next to her, and caught the ball as it fell. He handed it to her with a smile.

"Thank you, Sportacus," she said. "And, now, since you're here, I wonder if I could have a teeny little word with you about something? Come with me away from all these crowds so we can talk."

"Is everything all right, Bessie?"

"Oh, yes, quite all right…I just need your help with a little something."

Puzzled but obedient, Sportacus followed her across the square. Bessie led the way, rehearsing in her mind what she was going to say. It had taken her quite some time and ingenuity to get the ball thoroughly lodged in the branches without anyone noticing, but the conversation she was about to have would be much more difficult. She sat down on the bench and patted the space next to her.

"I wanted to talk to you about Stephanie," she said. She instantly had all of his attention, which only confirmed her suspicions. How right she was to be doing this now, despite dear Milford's soft-hearted reservations…

"Is she all right? What's the matter?"

"Dear Sportacus," said Bessie indulgently. "I know how fond you've always been of her. Ever since she was a little girl. But she isn't a little girl any longer…" (Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Sportacus blush a little, and look down at his hands.) "Naturally, it's a worrying time. She has so many choices to make. So many - important decisions."

"Of course," he said gently. "But surely you can't have any doubts that Stephanie will make the right choices?"

"Well, you see, that's the thing. I'm worried that she may be about to make some…wrong decisions." The look she shot at him was sharp enough to drill through an iron door. He met it head on, looking straight back at her: she was the first to drop her eyes. She had hoped she might be able to intimidate him, but it clearly wasn't going to work…

"The problem is," she went on, "she's always been such a warm, loving child. And now that she has her place at the Conservatoire and the world is opening up for her - I think it's important that none of us…hold her back. Do you understand what I'm saying to you?"

"To be honest, not really…"

"You see, Sportacus…I love her. I love her as if she was my own child. I'd do anything to make sure she's happy. And now she needs to spread her wings, to have the company of young men her own age - " another gimlet look.

"Mrs Meanswell, I think you can leave it up to Stephanie to choose her own - friends," said Sportacus firmly. "Now, if that's everything you wanted to say to me - "

"Not quite everything," said Bessie, equally firmly. "Sit back down, please, I can't talk to someone who's wandering about. Now. You know Stephanie's family situation, of course. She has no parents, no brothers or sisters. Instead she's had to find her own family. I like to think that Milford and I have been, in our way, like her father and mother. And you've always been like - like a very kind big brother. Really," she went on hastily, seeing him about to interrupt, "We've been so grateful to you. But now it's time for her to spread her wings and leave us behind. And it would be completely wrong of us to - to exploit her gratitude and affection, simply for our own selfish wish to keep her close to us. However much we might imagine we have her best interests at heart."

He looked bewildered. "Has Stephanie spoken to you about this?"

Looking him straight in the eye, she told him her first deliberate lie.

"Well, since you ask…she did say to me that she was worried that you might be getting a little too…fond of her. That you might be…imagining there is something between you that maybe isn't there."

She could see from his stricken look that these last words had reached him. For a moment he buried his head in his hands, and she felt guilty. But, she reminded herself, it didn't matter what he felt, or what he thought of her if he ever found out: all that mattered was that she protect Stephanie…

"I understand what you're saying."

"And I can count on you to do the right thing?"

"Of course." Something in his pale, determined face touched her heart, and she reached out and took his hand.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered. "I know how - fond you are of her. It's never easy to let go. But what matters is Stephanie."

"Of course," he repeated. "Goodbye, Mrs Meanswell." And he was gone, vaulting over the wall and disappearing into the summer night.

_He'll never call me Bessie again_, she thought sadly. But it was a small price to pay to keep Stephanie safe. She loved Stephanie, loved her to the bone, and would never let anyone hurt her, however well-intentioned he might seem. She would lie and cheat and scheme and threaten to keep her girl safe. Some things were just not meant to be…

"Is everything all right, my dear?" asked Milford, materialising at her side.

"I spoke to him," she said, "just as we agreed."

"And what did he say?""I think he understood our point of view."

Milford sighed.

"You know, if he really loves her, it will break his heart."

"I know," she replied, stony-faced. "But at least he won't break Stephanie's."


	3. Chapter Two Stormy Weather

Chapter Two - Stormy Weather (Which Makes Me Think Of You)

"Come on," whispered Trixie as they sat waiting for their turn to bowl. "What's the matter with you?"

"Nothing," hissed Stephanie. "I just don't feel that way about him, that's all."

"It's more than that, Pinkie. You've not been yourself since that stupid monorail party. What happened? Why are you so quiet? Tell me."

(She had spent four days floating round the house on a cloud of happiness, waiting for the moment when she would see Sportacus again. Then she had had that conversation with Auntie Bessie while they were baking in the kitchen.)

"You did want to come out tonight, didn't you?" Trixie looked concerned. "Look, if you don't like him, don't kiss him, that's all. But if you never give it a chance, you'll never know, will you?"

("Stephanie, dear, I hope you won't think I'm stepping out of my place, but I know you have a big date coming up next Friday with Richie Steadman…you will be careful, won't you? Not to get drawn into anything you don't feel comfortable with, I mean. I'm probably quite old fashioned, but I do think a girl needs to know about these things before she sets off into the exciting new world of dating…")

"Well, I'm certainly not going to kiss him," said Stephanie firmly.

(Bessie stirred the batter meditatively. "Dear, I often think men are just like children with candy. If you leave the candy where they can find it, they'll naturally eat it, even if they're not really hungry or they don't really like it. They can't help themselves. It just means more to a woman than it does to a man, and if you don't take care you can end up thinking it all means more than it does. Then when they don't call or get in touch, you end up getting hurt…" It was by far the worst conversation she had ever had to endure in her young life. If she hadn't been so completely crushed by this sudden insight into why Sportacus hadn't seen or spoken to her, she would have been dying of embarrassment.)

"Pinkie," said Trixie coaxingly. "Come on. It's me. You can tell me anything, remember?"

(At the dance class the following Monday, she had known it was over. He had been as sweet and welcoming as ever, and as always she had thrilled to his touch when they danced together, but there was something missing. Afterwards she had lingered, and he had taken her hand for a moment. Then he had suddenly dropped it, apologised, and disappeared at speed. Since then, when they had met, she had tried to act as if nothing had changed between them. If friendship was what there was, she would have to get used to it; but oh, it hurt to say goodbye to her dreams...)

"Trixie," she said suddenly. "Can I ask you something. You and Stingy…you were together for a while, weren't you?""Yeah, for like, six weeks last year…why? What's he got to do with anything?" Surely Stingy couldn't have put that lost, wistful look on Stephanie's face, could he?

"What happened? Why did you get together and then break up again? And how did you handle it afterwards?"

Trixie shrugged. "We got together because there was just this spark between us. Some of it was probably just because we knew we shouldn't be slipping around behind everyone's backs like that. Then one day it wasn't there any more, so I called it off. It was awkward for a while, then I met someone else and he met someone else and it wasn't awkward any more. Now come on, tell me. Who am I going to have to kill for upsetting you like this?"

"Steph! You're up!" called Richie. "Get a strike for the team, babe, we really need it. Trixie and Steve are thrashing us here." Stephanie squeezed Trixie's hand apologetically and was gone.

Trixie frowned and stared ferociously at her shoes. _Stingy and Stephanie_? It was a complete mystery…she waited impatiently until the two of them were sitting together again.

"Pinkie, you shouldn't take these things so seriously. It's totally _normal_ to be completely into someone one day and wonder the next day what you ever saw in them. If you had a quick fool around with Stingy - "

Stephanie laughed for the first time that evening. "Trixie, I promise you, I haven't been anywhere near Stingy."

"Well, okay, Pixel, then, or Ziggy, or whoever it is you're breaking your heart over. Your Mystery Lover Boy you won't tell me anything about." There was more than a little resentment in Trixie's words. "My point is, it doesn't always have to be so meaningful. The best way to get over one man, is to get under another. Trust me on this. Look on it as experience for the wonderful day when Mr Right finally makes his move. Whoever he might be, ha ha, not that you'll talk to me about that either. I sometimes wonder why I bother. Now come on, it's nearly time to go and eat, so perk up and show some signs of life or they'll throw you on the griddle right next to the hamburgers."

_Well, why not?_ thought Stephanie rebelliously, as they sat in the booth eating hamburgers and laughing together. _I offered, and he refused. That's that. Why not try it out with Richie? _She glanced at him sideways from under her hair, trying to imagine kissing those lips, holding that long, lean, boyish body against hers. Trixie was leaning against Steve, laughing up at him with one hand resting casually on his leg. Trixie had never been with the same boy for longer than three months, and she was one of the happiest people Stephanie knew. She had been waiting for so long for Sportacus to notice her; now it seemed he never would. Maybe it was time to start looking elsewhere…

"Hey, listen to that!" Richie pointed out of the window. "Was that thunder?" Suddenly, sheets of rain were coating the window. "It's going to be a long wet drive back home, Steph. Sorry."

She smiled. "That's okay. There's no rush."

Richie gallantly wrapped Stephanie up in his blazer before they ran to the car, but they were both soaked by the time they closed the doors. Richie backed the car out of the car-park, trying not to stare too obviously as the tantalising outline beneath the wet camisole and cardigan, clinging so beautifully to her skin. She had seemed so quiet and withdrawn at the start of the evening that he had almost given up hope, but then gradually she had seemed to warm up to him. As they left, Steve had given him a discreet thumbs-up with the hand that was not entangled with Trixie's.

The rain drove down, harder and harder, and above their heads the lightning flashed. Eventually, with an apologetic smile, he put on the indicator and pulled the car over to the side of the road.

"Do you mind if we stop just for a few minutes, just while the worst of the storm passes?" He was surprised to hear how hoarse his voice was. "Look, Steph, since we've got a few minutes, there's something I wanted to say to you…" he waited for her to say something, but she just smiled at him, that heartbreaking smile that melted his loins every time he saw it. She was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen in his life. He had to get to her somehow, make her see how good they could be together.

"Steph, I'm not blind. I know you're not that into me. But I had a word with Trixie and she said there was some other guy you really liked, but it didn't seem to be happening, so I thought it was worth trying my luck…I - I'll be totally honest, I asked Trixie if she'd set us up together and she came up with the idea about her and Steve. I hope you don't mind. But - Steph, you're so beautiful, you drive me absolutely insane. I can hardly keep my hands off you. I think we could be wonderful together. Can't we just give it a try? Just let me kiss you, please. Just to see if there's anything between us. Please."

"Richie…" Stephanie didn't know quite where to begin. Was there a nice way to say, You're right, I'm really not into you, but the man I love turned me down just over a week ago, and my best friend told me this was the best way to get over him? If there was, she couldn't think of it. So instead she kissed him.

_Well_, she thought, _this is okay. Not wonderful, but okay._ She could feel his tongue sliding between her lips. _Do I like that? Hmmm. Kind of wet._ It was nothing like kissing Sportacus…as always, when she let herself remember his hands on her body, his mouth warm against hers, she felt her entire body go soft and limp and yearning. On the seat beside her, Richie murmured with satisfaction and pulled her closer against him.

"See? I knew we'd be good together," he whispered. "Oh, Steph, I hoped it would be like this…" his hand was burrowing under her camisole, sliding up beneath the wet material towards her breast. His cheeks were flushed and his mouth looked loose and wet.

_Is this really supposed to be a turn-on? It's a bit like getting massaged by someone who doesn't really know what they're doing._ The underwire of her bra cup was digging painfully into her, and she wriggled. Richie took this as encouragement to reach around the back and, with a flourish, unfasten the clip. _Better now the wire isn't digging in, but…_

"Oh, babe," murmured Richie. "Steph, that feels so good. So good. You drive me wild, you know that? Absolutely wild." He lifted her up and moved her beneath him. Now they were both half-lying along the seat of the car. She could feel his erection pressing against her thigh: it felt completely unarousing, as if she was being poked with a stick. The buckle of his jeans was digging into her stomach. How did this happen so fast? How did she get out of it?

"Richie," she whispered. "Richie, please, slow down a bit. I'm not - I don't want - "

"Okay, okay," he whispered back. "Don't worry, I'm not going to - just let me -" Now he was stroking her stomach. "Babe, I'm sorry, this buckle's digging into you…" she felt him fumbling with the fastening of his jeans.

She absolutely had to stop him now. She flexed herself beneath him and wriggled out, pushing him away.

"Steph!" He looked at her in astonishment, his hair falling in his eyes, his jeans unfastened. "What's wrong?"

"You're just going too fast! Please, just - slow down a little, okay? Please?"

He smiled, and reached for her again.

"Babe, you got it. Just tell me what you like." His hand slid back under her camisole. "How about this?" He began massaging her breast again. His other hand slid below the waistband of her white linen trousers, flirting with the edge of her panties. "Or how about this? Just tell me, I want it to be good for you too…"

Filled with rage, she pushed him away again.

"Stop it, stop it, get off me, please! I don't like it! I don't like any of it! Okay? I'm sorry, Richie, I just can't do this."

"What? Don't try and tell me that, Steph, when I was kissing you just now you were all over me. You like me, I know you do." He was hurt and angry and embarrassed.

"That was only because I was thinking about someone else - " She knew the words were a complete mistake even as she said them. The hurt on his face made him look like a little boy. Then he suddenly seized her in his arms again and began kissing her once more, forcing himself against her. She struggled furiously, and heard something rip.

"Stop it!" she screamed. "Stop it! Stop it! Stop it! Stop it!" She struggled free of his arms, opened the car door and ran into the rain.

"For God's sake, Steph!" Richie ran after her, frantically re-fastening his jeans and tucking in his shirt as he ran. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you - come back, please. Look, it's pouring with rain, we're miles from Lazytown, come on, at least let me drive you home - _Jesus_!" A huge bolt of lightning lit up the sky. For a moment the entire sky was lit up. He saw Stephanie running across the grass without her shoes; he saw the tree looming over her; he saw the blaze of light as the lightning bolt struck it. Then the white light faded, and by the redder, more threatening light of the burning tree-stump, he saw that the tree had been split in half by the lightning, that half of it had fallen across the grass, and there was no sign of Stephanie.

He knew he should go and look. He knew they were alone on the road late at night and the chances of anyone else passing were tiny, that he was the only one who could do anything to help. But he couldn't bring himself to go and see if the girl he had been kissing not two minutes ago was alive or dead. Instead he closed his eyes and screamed at the top of his voice. "Help! Help! HEEEEELLLP!"

Then, like a miracle, he felt someone touch his shoulder, and a man was standing beside him. He thought he recognised him: he remembered being introduced to him at the party in Lazytown the other week: this is Sportacus, our town hero. He had never been so glad to see anyone in his life.

"Are you all right?" Sportacus shouted over the sound of the rain. "What's the problem?"

"It's Stephanie." Richie shuddered. "The tree - I think she's underneath it - "

Sportacus looked so grim that Richie stepped back, convinced he was about to be hit, but instead he vaulted lightly over the tree, and ran to the figure lying on the ground, half-covered with branches, but moving a little…

"Stephanie? Stephanie? Stephanie!" Sportacus shouted her name frantically, stroking her pale, still face. "Talk to me! Stephanie, sweetheart, please, are you all right?"

"Sportacus?" Richie saw her face light up like a torch, and he suddenly thought, _So that's who she was thinking about!_

"I can't move," Stephanie whispered. "The tree's pinning me down. But I can feel my legs, I don't think anything's broken - I just can't get out."

He was still stroking her face tenderly. "Now, sweetheart, I am going to get you out, okay? But you need to keep still. Don't move at all. I'm going to move the tree off you, but you have to keep absolutely still." She nodded trustingly, and he smiled back at her.

"There's no way," said Richie. "It's half a tree, there's no way we can - "

"We have to, there's no choice. So we will." The grim look was back on his face. "Hold this branch here, like that. Now, I can move it, but I need you to help me balance it at the same time to make sure it doesn't roll back again towards us. When I lift it, just give it a push to keep it moving away from us. Can you do that?"

Richie wasn't sure, but he nodded.

"Of course you can. Ready? One. Two. Three - "

And to Richie's complete astonishment - _how strong could one man be?_ - they managed it. The corpse of the tree lay beside the highway, and Stephanie was free. Instantly Sportacus was beside her.

"Can you move your legs?" She did so. "How about your arms? Okay, nothing broken. No, don't try to stand up, let me - " as easily as if she were a little girl, he picked her up in his arms. "I'm going to take you up to the airship." He looked up at the sky. "Ladder!"

Impossibly, there was a rope ladder, dangling down from the sky and dripping with rain. Richie watched as, without any visible effort, Sportacus swarmed up it, holding Stephanie against him with one arm, and, to his total bafflement, into a blue and white airship hovering silently above. Even from where he was standing, he could see that she was clinging to him.

A minute later, a figure came back down the ladder and stood beside him, shouting over the sound of the storm.

"It's Richie, isn't it?" Richie nodded. "Here's what I need you to do. Do you have a phone? Call Mayor Meanswell and let him know that I have Stephanie and she's safe, but the storm is headed right for Lazytown and I don't want to take the airship through it. I'll bring her home in the morning. Is that your car over there? Good. You need to go back to Smallville, there's no chance of getting into Lazytown tonight, there are trees down all over the road. Okay so far?"

Richie nodded meekly.

"Get back in the car, and wait at least twenty minutes before you try and drive. Understand? At least twenty minutes. Time it. You probably don't know it, but you'll be on a huge adrenaline high and it's not safe to be behind the wheel until you've come back down." One of the branches had torn his chest and blood was dripping onto the ground, but he seemed completely oblivious to it. "And drive slowly, okay?"

"Okay," said Richie, completely cowed.

Sportacus leapt onto the rope ladder and climbed effortlessly up to the airship waiting above.

At the very top of the ladder, he paused for a second, searching for the fierce discipline that had carried him through the past two years of love and longing. _It's her choice,_ he told himself. _Not yours. Only hers. And what she needs from you is… friendship._

She was sitting on the floor of the airship, wrapped in the towel he had hastily summoned out of storage before going back out into the rain to speak to Richie, looking so frail and vulnerable that it was all he could do not to take her in his arms.

"How are you feeling?" he asked her gently. "Are you hurt?" He took the towel from her and began to dry the long, wet strands of hair. "What were you doing out there, anyway?"

"We - oh…" Stephanie blushed a fiery red. He realised what she meant and found that he was blushing, too, with embarrassment and with pure male jealousy. (_Her choice,_ he reminded himself. _Not yours._) "We - um - we stopped for a few minutes because of the rain, and then we - kind of had an argument…so I got out of the car…"

For the first time he noticed her torn camisole.

"He - did he - I swear, Stephanie, if he ever, ever - " He took a deep breath, forcing the primal rage rising in him back under control. "Did he - hurt you at all? Did he - ?"

"No, nothing like that. It was just a misunderstanding, sort of…" she ducked her head down so all he could see of her was waves of pink hair. "I just didn't quite realise how - how he felt. And it all got a little bit out of hand. But it's all right…"

"Stephanie, is there anyone else you need to talk to? If you need to go home, if you want to be with your Aunt, or Trixie, I can try and get through the storm. The lightning should pass over soon, if you need to be with them instead I'm sure we can make it."

She looked up at him shyly. "If you don't mind - if you're sure it's all right - I think I'd rather be here with you."

The words pierced his heart. He had never allowed his thoughts to linger on what it would be like to be with her, but he had no control over his unconscious. Every night his sleep was filled with dreams, dreams that showed him a glimpse of what he wanted and left him aching with desire and loneliness. Now she was here, in his airship, telling him she wanted to be with him…struggling for control, he replayed Bessie's words to him in his head

(you might be imagining something there is something between you that maybe isn't there)

and focused on the present. She was in trouble. She needed rescue.

"Then let me look after you." He took her naked feet gently in his hands: they were covered with small cuts. "Sweetheart, look at these…what happened to your shoes? I'll get some antiseptic." He stood up and somersaulted to the bathroom. He filled a bowl with warm water and antiseptic solution, with hands that were trembling slightly. Since the night he had kissed her, it was impossible to be close to her without remembering how good it had felt to finally let his guard down and show her how he felt. Was he making excuses to touch her? Could he trust himself not to do anything to upset her?

"This might sting a little," he said, taking her foot in his hand. He smiled. "Try not to kick me, or I'll put you back out in the rain. Now…"

_This is heaven,_ thought Stephanie. _Sitting here, on the floor of Sportacus's airship, listening to the rain falling, feeling his hands on me, taking care of me, cherishing me…this is heaven._ He was completely absorbed in his task of sponging off the blood and debris from her bruised, aching feet, his hands on her body as familiar and welcome as if she had known them every day of her life. Just once, he glanced up at her and smiled, and she felt her heart skip a beat at the expression in his eyes. He stood up to take the bowl away, and she noticed that his shirt was torn and bloody, and he had an ugly graze across his chest.

"What happened?" she gasped. He glanced down absently at himself.

"When I moved the tree off you, it must have grazed me. It's nothing to worry about. Stephanie, you're soaked. We need to get you dry."

"I'll be fine. Let me see to this." He started to protest, but she laid a finger across his mouth. "You took care of me, now it's my turn. Take that shirt off."

Caught by surprise, he found himself meekly unfastening the crystal from the front of his waistcoat and laid it gently on the ground. Next he drew his torn t-shirt off over his head.

(Watching, Stephanie caught her breath. He was completely beautiful, golden and sleekly muscled, with just a tracery of fine, soft hair along the line from his navel to his groin. _He's just a friend,_ she told herself fiercely. _He's already turned you down once._ But she couldn't deny the quiver that went through her at the thought of touching him.)

"Kneel down so I can reach you," she said softly. "Now, keep still…this is a mess, it really needs cleaning."

Her hair was falling over his shoulders and chest, tickling and teasing him; she was close enough for him to smell her perfume. The sting of the antiseptic was an exquisite counterpoint to the softness of her hands on him. He closed his eyes in desperation. This was the sweetest torture he had ever imagined: to have her so close to him, touching him so intimately, and to know that he would never be anything more to her than a substitute brother. He forced himself to imagine her in Richie's arms, wrapped blissfully around him with his hands all over her body.

(she needs the company of young men her _own age_)

It helped, a little, but then he opened his eyes again and realised her mouth was only inches from his own. All he would have to do would be to lean forward, just a little…his heart was pounding. He could feel his whole body coming to life in response to her touch.

"Stephanie," he said hoarsely, "I don't think this is a good idea - "

"Nearly finished," she said absently, dipping the cloth in the water again.

"Stephanie, please." He was completely and helplessly aroused now, by her nearness and the gentle touch of her fingers on his skin. He had to stop this quickly, before she noticed and he lost all hope of holding onto her friendship. "Stephanie, please, I need you to stop - _Stephanie, you just can't touch me like that!_"

She looked at him in total shock.

"What did I do wrong?" she whispered. They stared wildly at each other, desperate and completely uncomprehending. Then her face crumpled and she burst into tears, hiding her face in her hands.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "Whatever I did, I'm so sorry."

"Whatever _you_ did - Stephanie, you didn't do anything wrong, you hear me? Nothing at all. This is my fault. Not yours."

"Just tell me what the matter is," she pleaded.

"I promise, it's nothing you did," he insisted, stroking her back. "It's just - oh, Stephanie, I'm so sorry. This is the last thing you need, tonight of all nights. Can we please talk about this some other time?" His blue eyes gazed at her, mutely pleading. _Please don't make me confess to you. The last thing you need is to hear is that a man you thought you could trust can't get near you without wanting to jump your bones._

"No," she said with sudden anger, pushing his hands away. She wiped the tears from her face. "This is all the time there is. There isn't any better time. I need to know. What's going on? Why can't you stand to have me touch you?"

"It isn't like that at all," he whispered, completely lost now.

"Then what? What is it like? What's the matter with me?"

"There's nothing the matter with you, it's me, my problem - "

"_What problem?_ Is it the same reason why you kissed me that night, and then didn't come near me again?" She looked him straight in the eye. "Are you gay?"

"_What? _No, of course I'm not gay - "

"Then what? What's the matter with me? Why won't you let me come anywhere near you? What do I have to do to get your attention?"

He had had all he could stand. His defences were washed away. He was an above average hero, but he was still a man, and he had been lonely for far too long. _This is all the time there is,_ he thought wildly.

"The problem is that I am completely in love with you!" he shouted.

She stared at him, breathless.

"I love you, Stephanie," he repeated desperately. "I love you in every way a man can love a woman. I know you only want me to be your friend, and I've been proud to be that for you. If that's all there will ever be, then I will be your friend until the day I die and be glad to be part of your life. But when you touch me like that, when you're close to me like that…I'm only flesh and blood, and I want to be with you so much, and it kills me that it means something to me that it will never mean to you. You can't play with me like that, Stephanie. I'm not that strong, and it only reminds me of what I can't have."

He couldn't read the expression on her face.

"And what on earth makes you think I only want you for my friend?" she asked after a moment.

"Your aunt spoke to me…the night of the party…the night I kissed you. She said that you'd confided in her, and told her you thought I was getting too fond of you…that I was imagining there was something between us that wasn't really there."

"And you actually believed that?" She stared at him in disbelief. (But then, part of his attractiveness had always been that he had absolutely no idea that every girl in the High School swooned over him.)

"The way she explained it, it seemed more than reasonable," he said. "Stephanie, please, don't tease me. If there's any chance, any chance at all - "

"Any chance? There's never been any chance for either of us," she said simply. "I can't believe we've wasted all this time."

And she kissed him.


	4. Chapter Three Into The Blue

Chapter Three - Into The Blue

There was nothing innocent about this kiss. It was hot and frantic and urgent, and it went and it went on and on and on. It was simultaneously exactly what Stephanie wanted, and not nearly enough. Fiercely she pushed his hat from his head and ran her fingers through his hair. It was lighter than she had imagined, and fell down over his forehead in thick, untidy waves.

In one smooth movement, his mouth never leaving hers, Sportacus pulled her to her feet. One arm went around her back and slid firmly downwards, holding her tightly against him; she could feel his hardness pressed against her, and she thought she might faint with the bliss of knowing how much he wanted her. Finally he took his mouth from hers. She could see the flush on his cheeks and his breath was short.

"You're sure this is what you want?" he whispered.

"Isn't it what you want?"

He smiled and glanced downwards. "I think it's pretty obvious what I want." She blushed. "But that's not important, what matters to me is how you feel about it. If you want to stop, at any time, just say and we will. There's no rush, I want this to be right…"

"This is right. This is the rightest, sweetest thing that has ever happened to me. Please, please, don't stop…"

He smiled. "Well, in that case…" he slipped her cardigan from her shoulders, then gently peeled off her torn, damp camisole: Stephanie quivered. His fingers found the straps of her bra, fumbled, hesitated. "And what is _this_?" She could here the amusement in his voice.

"What do you mean, what is it? It's underwear, all women wear it."

"Not where I come from. It's pretty, but what do you wear it for? Why does it go underneath everything else?"

"Women in Iceland don't wear underwear?"

"Well, clearly not the women I used to know. Now, are there any more layers underneath, or have I finally got to the end?" Gently he unfastened the belt of her trousers, and they fell to the floor. "No, I see there's still more I never knew about human women…"

Another moment of amused investigation, and she stood before him completely naked, her skin glowing in the cool white light of the air-ship. The rain continued to drum on the roof.

"Now it's my turn," she said softly. She unfastened the buckle of his belt, and in a moment he was as naked as she was. "So I take it that the men in Iceland don't wear underwear either?" she asked, trailing her fingers over his chest, down over the solid muscles of his stomach, and down, down, down.

"We…oh, Stephanie…" he murmured as she continued to explore. "I can't possibly answer questions…while you're touching me there…no, please, you don't have to stop…we can talk about… underwear…or culinary delicacies…or cultural traditions…fishing…modes of transport…oh, sweetheart, that's amazing, that's absolutely amazing…or whatever else you want to know about…but please, please, let's do all of that later…" He reached out for her.

His hands, those big, broad, warm hands, were running over her body. The skin was dry and lightly callused, and its roughness against the smoothness of her back sent shivers down her spine. She pressed against him, wanting to feel his chest lying against hers. He groaned, and laid his mouth over hers again, then lifted her up so she could wrap her legs around his waist.

"Bed!" he called to the ship, and the bed folded down from the wall. Still holding her against him, he laid her gently down on top of the duvet. Now he was kissing and stroking her nipples, sending lines of fire down to her groin, and she realised she was moaning out loud with the tantalising pleasure of it. She wanted to please him as much as he was pleasing her, but she realised in a panic she had no idea what to do - how to touch him. _Why didn't I ask Trixie what you're supposed to do?_ she thought frantically to herself.

"Sportacus," she whispered. Instantly he took his hands off her.

"Too much? Too fast?"

"No, it's incredible, please don't stop…I…I just wanted to tell you something…it's - it's my first time, I've never done any of this before…I don't really know what to do…" she could hardly look at him. "Do you mind?"

He turned her face towards his.

"I am honoured," he said gravely, without a trace of mockery. "Do you hear me? I am absolutely, completely honoured."

"But I don't know what to do, I don't know how to - please you - "

He smiled wryly.

"Stephanie, believe me, that is the very last thing you need to worry about," he said. "Just being this close to you is almost more than I can - " he stopped, and bit his lip. "Now, where were we? Ah, yes…"

He began kissing her nipples again. One hand was stroking her stomach, moving over her body in smooth, confident caresses. Now he was touching her with nothing but his lips and his fingertips, following a slow, teasing trail down through her pubic hair, caressing her thighs, his blue eyes focused on her face, watching every change in expression. She closed her eyes, embarrassed by how much she needed him to continue, waiting desperately for his fingers to arrive at the very centre of her…

Now only the ball of his thumb was touching her, and she thought she would explode with need and frustration. She moaned pleadingly and pushed upwards against his hand, like a cat begging to be stroked. And at last, as if this was the signal he'd been waiting for, his hand slid up between her thighs and one finger came to rest, exquisitely, on the exact spot she needed him to find.

He bent his head and kissed her neck, nuzzling against her earlobe. His breathing was hard and ragged. Then he began to stroke her, slowly and firmly, and she felt as though her entire body was turning to liquid fire. A wave of pleasure was building in her, growing higher and higher with every blissful caress, and she was dimly aware that he was kissing her breasts again, and every touch of his mouth and tongue radiated straight down to that spot where his hand was stroking, touching, loving. She lay still, wanting to touch him too but unable to move, completely paralysed with pleasure, murmuring, "Don't stop, don't stop, please don't stop," and then, for an agonising second he did stop, and she heard herself cry out loud in frustration. Then his hand was moving on her again, rubbing harder and faster now, and the wave grew higher, higher, higher, until at last it broke and washed over her body, drowning her in a tide of blissful, overwhelming sexual release.

Dazed with ecstasy, she turned to him and kissed him. His hands trembled on her body, and she realised that he had been completely, unselfishly devoted to her pleasure only.

"Now tell me what you want," she whispered, encircling him with her fingers.

He closed his eyes.

"Stephanie," he moaned. "Oh, Stephanie, I want…I would so love to…I've got no right to ask…darling, please, just keep doing that, that's enough, that's wonderful …"

Instinctively she guessed what he was too honourable to ask her for, and without hesitation she rolled him fiercely on top of her, guiding him with her hand. For a moment more he hesitated, then she arched upwards towards him so that the very tip of him was touching her, and he couldn't hold back any more. There was one moment of sharp, tearing pain, but it was swallowed up in the joy of feeling him deep inside her, of finally knowing they were as close as two people could be to each other. She kissed him, tangling her fingers in his hair, her body instinctively moving in rhythm with his.

"Stephanie," he whispered wildly into her ear. "I love you, I love you, I love you. Whatever happens afterwards, I swear to you, it's all worth it just for this…"

"Oh, Sportacus, I - " she began, but he stopped her mouth with a kiss, and then she felt him go rigid in her arms and knew he was finally lost in bliss, and she had given him as much pleasure as he had given her.

They lay in speechless silence for a minute, then he reached down, picked the duvet up from the floor, and wrapped it around them.

She lay in the crook of his arm, revelling the freedom to touch him as much as she wanted. Her hands traced the planes of his face, smoothed the hair out of his eyes, and came to rest, fascinated, on the pointed tips of his ears…

She realised he was watching her, half-laughing, half-embarrassed.

"I'm sorry," she said. "It's just unbelievable to be so close to you. I used to lie awake at night sometimes and wonder…"

"You used to lie awake at night and wonder about my _ears_? Wild."

"Well, maybe not _just_ your ears…" They lay quietly for a while, their limbs entangled. Sportacus took a strand of Stephanie's hair and laid it over his throat like a scarf.

"Human women," Stephanie said suddenly. "That's what you said, isn't it? Only I was too busy thinking about other things to notice…so you're not…human?"

"Not exactly. Do you mind?"

"Of course not. I just want to know." she hesitated. "Robbie always used to say you were an elf. Although he seemed to mean it as an insult."

"An elf? No. Not insulting, by the way, just not correct. Elves are much smaller, more like what you would call fairies. I'm one of the _Haldufolk_. That's the name the men of Iceland have given us, anyway. I think in your language it means _Hidden People_."

"And what do you call yourselves?" she asked him curiously.

He laughed. "What do you call yourself, Stephanie?"

"I'm - well, I'm just a person, I suppose. Just a woman."

"So there you are. I'm just a person, too. Just a man." His eyes travelled lovingly over her face. "A very lucky man." He kissed her neck and she sighed with pleasure.

"Is that why you always wear the hat?" she asked him suddenly.

He stopped kissing her, amused and exasperated.

"Yes! that's why I wear the hat. It just seemed easier. If I'd known it was going to be this interesting to you, I would have shown you my…my ears…long ago." He was shaking with laughter. "Now do you have any more questions about my anatomy? Or, since we're exchanging confidences, can I check out something that I've wondered about for a while now?"

"I bet I can guess," said Stephanie, rolling her eyes. "It's all right. I don't mind. Go ahead and look."

"What do I want to know?"

"You want to know if - what colour -" she gestured downwards.

"I think you guessed." He gave her a wicked grin and threw off the duvet. "I believe," he said, covering her torso in a trail of kisses, "that the expression is _checking if your collar and cuffs match_. And they do! At last I've solved the mystery. I can sleep at night once more…"

"And is that what you used to lie awake thinking about?" she teased him.

"I didn't dare to think about any of this," he said, his eyes suddenly sad. "But I dreamed."

"Good dreams?"

"Wonderful dreams…then I'd wake up and be lonely. Stephanie, you do know that not everyone is going to like this."

"I don't care what anyone thinks. If you knew - if you knew how miserable I've been this last week, because I thought you didn't want me - "

"I do know now, and I am so, so sorry. If it makes it any better, I was miserable too…but really, we need to talk about this some time soon. I can't hide you up here in my air-ship forever. Your Aunt Bessie is definitely not going to be happy about me being with you. She made that very clear to me the night of the party."

"Why does it matter what she thinks?" said Stephanie rebelliously.

"Because she loves you too. And you love her. And I don't want to put you in a position where you have to choose. She just wants you to be happy."

"Then let's be happy," she whispered. "Please, let's not talk about this now. Tomorrow. Or the next day. But right now, let's just be happy…"

This time, she was determined not to be beguiled into letting him take over. For as long as she had known him he had been looking after her. Now it was her turn to take care of him. He tried to take her in his arms, and she could feel his clever, knowing fingers making their way up between her thighs again, deliciously tickling and probing, but she pushed him away.

"Not this time," she told him firmly. "This time, my love, it's all going to be about you. Lie absolutely still and don't move." Surprised but obedient, he lay down with his hands at his sides. "Now…"

She began to kiss him, a shower of butterfly kisses all over his face and chest. Gradually, tantalisingly, she parted her lips and let her tongue slide out between them until she was licking him, her tongue describing a long, wet trail down to his navel…she felt his hands gently caressing her shoulders.

"No," she said sternly, and pushed his hands away again. He raised an eyebrow, but obeyed, folding his hands behind his head. When she was sure he was still again, she returned to her exploration.

She had wondered and worried over what it would be like, but there was nothing ugly or frightening here: this part of him was as beautiful as all the rest. On impulse, she took it deep into her mouth, and his gasp of pleasure sent a sweet thrill of excitement through her. She could feel his need growing as she ran her tongue over it, licking and nuzzling, revelling in her power to please him as thoroughly as he had pleased her before.

Finally, seconds before he reached the pinnacle, she released him and sat astride him, pushing her hair back over her shoulders so that he could see every inch of her.

"Now tell me what you want," she said, trying to keep her voice steady.

"That was amazing…where did you learn to do that?"

"Girl scouts. Now tell me. Tell me what you want and you can have it. Anything, anything at all. But you have to tell me."

His eyes were dark with need. Suddenly he took his hands from behind his head and held her around her waist, gentle but firm. "I'm going to show you what I want," he whispered.

She tried to push him away again, but he was far, far stronger than her and utterly determined. So instead she surrendered to the pleasure of his hands on her body, confident and sure, turning and guiding her until she was lying on top of him.

"Now," he murmured in her ear. "Move down, just a little. Oh, yes, like that. Just like that -" she felt him move inside her, and this time there was no pain, just a delicious friction that made her bite her lip and push down harder, wanting more. He held her by her waist and gently lifted her up, then down again, showing her what to do, how to move. This was a totally different feeling from the first time, when he had stroked her to a sharp peak of pleasure while she lay completely quiescent and unable to move. This was a slower, softer feeling that spread through her whole body, and because she was on top she was totally in control of it. She took her time, trusting him to wait for her, moving slowly at first and then faster, feeling him moving with her, sharing every moment. She wanted to draw it out, to make it last, but the pleasure was too great to hold back, and when he took one hand off her waist and gently pinched her nipple it was enough, just that little extra touch, to send her over the edge, and then they were falling together, clinging to each other, hands tangled in each other's hair.

"That was what I wanted," he said when they finally got their breath back.

"That was everything I ever wanted," she replied, laughing.


	5. Chapter Four That Cold Black Magic

Chapter Four - That Cold Black Magic

Stephanie woke to find the airship filled with sunshine. The door was open and the air was full of the scents of the newly-washed earth below. She was alone, but there was a note on her pillow, folded up into an aeroplane:

"Darling, darling Stephanie

Someone in trouble - had to go - sorry! Back as soon as I can.

Ask the airship for anything you need.

I love you

S"

She stretched luxuriously. She couldn't remember ever feeling this good in her whole life. She found the bathroom, took a shower, and ordered a banana and glass of orange juice.Then she sat on the edge of the open doorway wrapped in a towel, enjoying her breakfast and letting the sun dry her long pink hair. Fragments of memories of the night before floated through her memory, making cheeks flush and her body tingle.

(She had woken in the night and watched him sleeping for a while, fiercely memorising every part of his face and body. While he slept, he drew her into his arms, turning her so she lay with her back against his chest and their legs tangled together. For long minutes she lay awake, not wanting to go to sleep and lose the perfect security and bliss she felt lying in his arms.)

She wandered back into the airship and looked for her clothes, expecting to find them lying in a crumpled heap where they had abandoned them the night before. Instead she found them carefully folded next to the bed. Her camisole was beyond repair, so she dressed in her trousers and cardigan instead, and wandered back out onto the platform to enjoy the sunshine.

(They had lain together drowsing for a while, then she had become aware of his hand, stroking her gently along the outside of her thigh. Stroking, stroking, caressing and smoothing, sending shivers of bliss through her body. Still half-asleep, she had turned in his arms so that they were lying face-to-face. Almost too tired to move, but unable to resist, they had made love once more, slowly and languorously, not wanting to waste a minute of this enchanted, secret time outside time, alone and lost in their love for each other while everyone else slept below.)

They were over the fields just outside Lazytown. From her vantage point in the sky she felt as though she could see to the edge of the world through the clear, clean air. She could see Ziggy coaching the under-sevens soccer team on the playing-field, and the huddle of yellow construction vehicles where the monorail engineers were working. She could even see her Aunt and Uncle in their back garden, walking around and discussing something with animation…the sight made her frown in puzzlement.

Why had Bessie lied to Sportacus? She knew that her aunt had been embarrassingly keen for her to start dating Richie (_wonder how she'd feel about him if she knew about last night,_ she thought wryly) but why would she go to so much trouble to keep her and Sportacus apart? He was older than her, of course, although she had no idea how big or small the difference was. But surely if two people loved each other, that didn't matter. He had been her friend since she was a little girl, and if she was totally honest she could understand how that might cause a few raised eyebrows. But their love for each other had grown so naturally out of the friendship they had always shared that she couldn't begin to disentangle them, or to find the moment when she had begun to think of him as a lover. She did know that he had been completely principled, waiting for long years without ever letting her see his feelings, scrupulously stepping aside when he thought she wanted nothing more than friendship…he was the most honourable man she would ever know, she thought, with proprietary pride: completely above average in every way.

She caught sight of him now in the field below. He was practicing a new tumbling routine, hand-springing over the fence, back-flipping and somersaulting through the field, then back again. She watched as he repeated it four, five, six times, getting faster and more confident every time. She climbed down the rope ladder and waited for him as he ran through the routine one more time. He saw her and ran over to her.

"Good morning," he smiled, kissing her. He had been working hard and she could see a faint sheen of sweat on his skin, but he was barely out of breath. He took her hand. "Want to come and play?"

She laughed and ran with him through the grass. "Music!" he shouted to the ship above, and the air was filled with a catchy, upbeat rhythm that her feet couldn't resist.

"Is there anything it doesn't do?" she asked.

"I think it sometimes thwarts me for my own good," he told her seriously. "I've never had much luck with 'naked women', for example…Oh, Stephanie, you must know that I'm joking! Please don't be upset."

"I'm sorry," she said jealously. "I know you're older than me, of course there have been other girls …"

He took her hand. "Sweetheart, I am not going to lie to you," he said. "Back home, of course I have been with other women. But since I came to Lazytown, there hasn't been anyone. Anyone at all. And I have never, never fallen in love before. For this, you are my first, my only one."

Her eyes filled with tears. "And it's the first time I - "

He kissed her. "Come and dance with me."

So they danced together in the green field, Stephanie's bare feet revelling in the lush grass beneath her feet. At first it was fast, exciting and breathless. Stephanie could hardly keep up and she had to catch her breath as they waited for the next track to start. Then, she began to find that every time he held or lifted her, he was taking a little longer to let go, holding her against his body, his hands lingering and wandering over her…she began to play the same game, deliberately brushing against him at every opportunity, glancing provocatively at him from under her eyelashes whenever she could catch his eye, until at last they weren't dancing at all, just standing and kissing as if they could never get enough of each other.

"I don't remember that move," he whispered in her ear as her hands caressed his back.

"You started it," she protested.

"Well, yes, I did. I have to admit it. I am, for the moment, completely under your spell. I am unable to keep my hands off you. But don't worry. If you give it, oh, seventy years or so, I'm sure I will eventually manage to dance with you again without needing to touch you everywhere…"

"And was that always what you wanted?"

"I told you," he murmured as he found the bare skin beneath her cardigan. "I didn't dare to think about it. What I wanted wasn't important. I had to be sure of what you wanted from me…" She could tell they were straying again onto dangerous territory, and she kissed him hard, knowing they were measuring time in hours and minutes now, wanting to make it last as long as possible. They lay down in the grass and kissed some more: after a minute, he rolled her on top of him and they lay still for a while, savouring the blissful frustration of being so close without taking it any further.

"Did you see that?" Sportacus rolled Stephanie off him, sat up and stared out across the field.

"See what?"

"I thought I saw something moving in the grass…like a long, blue metal tube with eyes on it." There was a pause while he replayed this in his head. "Okay, that doesn't make any sense at all. But something. The engineers aren't working in this field yet, are they?"

"No, I don't think so…are you sure you saw something?" she squinted into the sunshine.

"Maybe I just imagined it." He pulled her to her feet and led her by the hand back to the ladder.

"I think it's time I took you back home," he said when they reached the top of the ladder, but even as he said the words he was unbuttoning her cardigan. "We really need…to go soon…" she pulled his t-shirt over his head. "Really, we should…"

"Just once more," she whispered, almost ashamed of her need for him. "Love me again, just once more. We can go straight afterwards."

So he took her in his arms again and loved her, tenderly and slowly, exploring each part of her body as if he were memorising it, or as if he were saying goodbye. _But this isn't the end,_ she told herself fiercely. _This is just the beginning. We're going to have years and years together. I want to marry him, to wake up every morning with him next to me in the bed. I'll live on an airship if that's what he wants, or I'll go with him to Iceland, to the ends of the earth. This is what I was born for. There will be a way…_

Sated and completely exhausted, they lay still at last in each other's arms.

"We really have to take you home," murmured Sportacus into her hair.

"I know," she replied. Neither of them moved, and a few minutes later, they were both asleep.

Stephanie's deep, dreamless sleep was suddenly broken by an electronic click-whirring noise, That's odd, that sounds just like someone taking a photograph, she thought sleepily. The noise sounded again, twice more, and then, to her horror, a drawling voice said, "My, my, my, these are going to look _lovely_ in the family album."

Sportacus was instantly awake and sitting up, holding his hand up against the noon sunlight that flooded the air-ship. Standing in the entrance of the air-ship, holding a camera and glaring at them with the deepest malice she had ever seen on anyone's face, was Robbie Rotten.

"Oh, your uncle is going to be _thrilled_ with this, little girl," he crowed. "Who would have thought it? The spotlessly well-behaved town hero and the last remaining virgin in the High School, caught in bed together! Too perfect."

Stephanie stared at him in utter horror.

"I wonder," he continued musingly, "Does he have any idea what you two have been hiding behind those disgustingly innocent little faces? Or am I going to be the lucky bearer of the glad timings? And as for that mad Harpie witch of an aunt of yours…oh, I just know how pleased _she's_ going to be with this little dalliance. You just couldn't have picked anyone better! I think she'd probably even have preferred you to be in bed with me…I hope she was worth it, Lover Boy, because we both know what Bessie's going to do when she finds out you've been fooling around with her perfect little princess."

"What are you doing here, Robbie?" asked Sportacus wearily. He looked at Stephanie, and wrapped the duvet protectively over her breasts.

"My word! The perfect gentleman," said Robbie sarcastically. "But please, don't bother on my account…she's really not my type. Far too bland. Although I might have known you'd be after her like a dog that's seen a rabbit."

Neither of them spoke. Sportacus put a protective hand around Stephanie's shoulders and drew her close to him.

"My God, you really are completely besotted, aren't you? What a tiresome, nauseatingly perfect couple you are. No fun at all. Fortunately you won't last past the afternoon." He glanced at Stephanie, who was still staring at him in shock. "A tip for you in your future relationships, little girl: remember to close the door behind you, otherwise who knows what passers-by will see?" He waved the camera triumphantly.

With sudden decision, Sportacus folded the duvet back and stood up. Completely naked, he stood before Robbie, his arms folded, totally un-self-conscious. Stephanie felt a tiny quiver of pride at the sight of this wonderful, desirable man who belonged so completely to her…looking at him hungrily, she was both surprised and not surprised to see Robbie doing the same thing.

"There," said Sportacus calmly. "Now you've seen everything. There is nothing going on here that anyone is ashamed of, Robbie, so you can stop trying to embarrass me. Now I suggest you leave."

"Aren't you going to beg me not to show these oh-so-candid photographs to the idiot in the Town Hall and that Gorgon he likes to refer to as his wife?" asked Robbie maliciously.

"What you do with your photographs, on your camera, is absolutely none of my business. Wallpaper your bedroom with them if you want, I don't care. But I would like you to get off my air-ship, please." He began to dress.

"Oh, don't worry," hissed Robbie, beginning to climb down the ladder. "I've got plenty to be getting on with. I was planning a nice lazy afternoon, but since you two have decided to liven it up so unexpectedly, I think I'll just stroll into town and see what's going on, maybe drop by the Mayor's office for a little chat…but before I go, there's just one more thing I was wondering about. Obviously, I've known for years about your rather _unhealthy_ interest in your little dancing partner here, but just tell me - did you manage to keep your hot, sticky paws off her until it was legal?"

"Get. Off. My. Airship." Sportacus' voice was very low and menacing.

"Dear me," sighed Robbie. "I must have finally touched a nerve. How about you, Barbie girl? Are you going to enlighten me? No? Well, it's been awfully nice talking to you both, but now I really have to fly. Have a great day, won't you? Oh, no, I forgot, as far as your revolting little romance goes, it's going to feel like the sky's falling in." With this last burst of malice, he was gone.

Stephanie hid her face in her hands.

"Sweetheart, don't let him upset you." Sportacus took her hands away from her face and tipped her chin up towards his face. "He can't help himself, there's no point getting angry. It's just the way he is."

"How can you be so nice about him?" demanded Stephanie, smarting from the shock and Robbie's words. "After what he just _did_…"

"Robbie is a lonely, unhappy man who can't have what he wants and is not at all comfortable in his skin. Besides, what has he done that's so important? So he has some photographs of us together. There's nothing in them that we need to be ashamed of. Why would I be angry with him?"

"What do you think he's going to do?"

"For what it's worth, I don't think what Robbie does or doesn't do is going to make the slightest difference," he said dryly. "But it's time for us to leave." He flipped into the seat of the airship and turned the wheel towards Lazytown, flying slowly over the green fields and pretty, well-kept houses. Wanting to be close to him for as long as possible, Stephanie came and sat beside him on the floor, and he put one arm around her shoulder as they flew.

"You really think they're going to absolutely hate all of this, don't you," she said suddenly. "My aunt and uncle, I mean. Why are you so completely sure they won't be happy for us?"

Without taking his hand off the wheel, he turned his head and kissed her hair.

"What was it you told me when you were just a little girl? There's always - "

"…a way," Stephanie chimed in.

"Exactly. I hope that there will be a way this time, too."

"You hope…but what do you think?"

"What I _know_," he said, "is that I love you. I know that this - being with you like this - been the most beautiful thing that has ever happened to me. I know that whatever happens, no-one can take that away from us."

"And I know that I - "

"Shhhh." He put his finger over her lips.

"Why won't you let me say it?" she wailed.

"Because, because…darling, I can't explain why not right now. Can you please trust me for just a little longer? I'll explain to you tomorrow, I promise."

"Please don't treat me like a little girl, Sportacus - "

The bleeping sound of his crystal cut across the conversation.

""I have to go," he whispered, and brought the airship to a halt. They were directly over the sports field, and they could see three of the children trapped beneath a huge metal cage.

"Help!" they screamed as Sportacus climbed down the ladder. "Help!"

"What happened, guys?" he asked, effortlessly lifting the cage up so they could make their escape.

"There was this huge bowl of lollipops - "

" - and when we went to take one, suddenly they flew up into the air and this cage fell down from the sky - "

"Yeah, and then Robbie climbed out of that post-box over there and laughed and laughed, and said we were the perfect delaying tactic," the third one finished breathlessly. "What did he mean, Sportacus?"

"I wouldn't worry about it," he said thoughtfully. "Now, I think those lollipops have disappeared, but let's find you some sports candy…aha!" He vaulted up into the branches of the apple tree that grew by the sports field and threw one down to each of them. "And how about something to play with…Frisbee!" He held out his hand and caught the Frisbee as it fell from the airship.

"Wow…thanks!" they chorused.

"See you later, guys," he said, waving at them as they ran off, chattering.

Climbing back into the airship, he piloted it over the last short distance to the Mayor's office.

"Ready?" he asked Stephanie, smiling down at her.

She put her hand in his and squeezed hard.

"Ready."

Hand in hand, they walked into the Mayor's office. He was sitting behind his desk, looking miserable and playing with a brown envelope that lay on the blotter in front of him marked "FAO Mayor Milford Meanswell (URGENT)". Beside him, Bessie was pacing up and down, her face white and furious. The two couples stared at each other across the desk. Then Bessie raised an accusatory finger and pointed it at Sportacus.

"_You_," she whispered, her voice shaking with rage. "How _could_ you - I trusted you to do the right thing and you simply charged in and - "

"Bessie, please," said Milford uncomfortably. "Please, let's not make this more difficult than it is…"

"More difficult than it is! What's difficult about this? He has betrayed the trust we put in him and I want him gone, do you hear me? Gone!"

"Stop it!" shrieked Stephanie. "What are you talking about, Aunt Bessie, why are you so upset? What have we done that's so terrible?"

"You haven't done anything, Stephanie. It's his fault entirely. Taking advantage of an innocent young girl who doesn't know any better, making her all sorts of promises he's got no intention of keeping - he'll ruin you, Stephanie, if you let him into your life. Ruin you. You could go anywhere, do anything, have any man you choose, and I will _not_ have all that taken away from you because someone _couldn't keep his hands to himself!_"

Stephanie felt her entire body filling with a pure, clear red rage.

"How dare you," she shouted back. "How dare you talk about him like that! If you knew - if you knew what happened to me last night, I was in so much trouble, and he _saved_ me! Just like he's always saved all of us! He never asked me for anything in return, never! It was my choice, do you understand? And all you can do is stand there and scream at him like a - yes, just like a mad, Harpie witch! Robbie was right, that's exactly what you are! How dare you lie to him, how dare you tell him that I asked you to warn him off, how dare you interfere in my life like this, if you even think about trying to stop us being together I swear I will - " her furious tirade was stopped short when Sportacus gently laid a finger over her mouth.

"Sweetheart," he said softly. "Please believe me, this isn't the way. Your aunt and uncle love you, they're doing their best."

Bessie got her breath back, and began again.

"Oh, don't try and pretend to be so perfect," she snarled. "I know all about your kind, Sportacus. You don't care about Stephanie at all, you just saw something you wanted and you took it, and when you're tired of her you'll just move onto someone else…"

He looked bewildered.

"Where are you getting this from? What on earth are you talking about? I love your niece, I can see this is not something you're happy about, but I love her. Why is that so terrible?"

Milford looked uneasily at Bessie.

"Bessie, my dear, maybe we should - "

"Don't you even think about it, Milford," warned Bessie. "We discussed it and agreed. You promised her parents that you'd make sure Stephanie was free to follow her dreams, you know they didn't want her to be trapped here - "

"But Bessie, things have changed so much in the last two years, it's not how it used to be - "

"…and you know as well as I do, these things just don't work out. They're not like us, Milford, they have different ideas, disgusting ideas, they just don't understand faithfulness or decency or - my God, he's not even _human_ - "

Sportacus held up a hand in protest. "Mrs Meanswell, of course you're right, I'm not exactly like you, but I don't understand why you think that's important. I don't know what has happened or what you've heard to make you say these things, but if you would just let me explain -"

"Oh, I'm sure you've got a _wonderful_ explanation. I'm sure you can come up with a million and one _marvellous_ reasons why it was perfectly all right for you to take Stephanie up into that ship of yours when she was vulnerable and scared and - take advantage of her. But I'll tell you one thing, Sportacus, that was the last time you'll be anywhere near my girl. You will _not_ ruin her life, you will _not_ break her heart, and you will _not_ tie her down to a dead-end town with no future. Milford, you know what we agreed."

Mayor Meanswell sighed and looked at the desk in front of him. In that moment, Stephanie knew what he was going to say, and she ran forward to take his hands in hers.

"Uncle, please, please, don't do this…we haven't done anything wrong, _he_ hasn't done anything wrong, don't send him away…"

"I'm sorry, Stephanie," he said, more firmly than he had ever spoken to her in his life. "But I have no choice." He stared at the table for a moment longer, and took a deep breath.

"Sportacus, I hereby banish you forever from Lazytown," he said heavily. "Your contract is cancelled and your residence here is revoked."

"Don't do this," Sportacus said quietly.

"I wish there was another way, Sportacus, but really, there's nothing else I can do. I need your crystal, please."

"Please. I'm not asking this for myself. Do you have any idea what will happen to the town if you do this?"

"I - what?" Milford peered up at Sportacus in bemusement. "Are you - are you threatening me, Sportacus?"

"Not threatening. Warning. Every action has consequences - I'm not allowed to say any more - but please, don't do this to Lazytown - "

"Do what to Lazytown? What are you talking about?" Sportacus began to speak again, but Bessie shouted over him.

"Don't you dare listen to him, Milford. Just get on and do what needs to be done." She walked around the desk and plucked the crystal from his chest. "There. Now it's over. Finished."

There was a terrible silence. Sportacus stood as if he had been turned to stone. Nobody dared to speak or move.

"I'd like a minute alone with Stephanie to say goodbye," Sportacus said at last.

Milford nodded wearily, but Bessie said hastily, "Anything you have to say to my niece, you can say in front of us."

"Fine." Sportacus took Stephanie's white, shocked face between his hands, cradling it gently and caressing her cheekbones with his thumbs.

"Stephanie, darling Stephanie, listen to me. Please listen, this is so important. First, I want you to promise me not to hate anyone for this. Your Aunt and Uncle love you. They are doing what they think is best." He wiped away the tears that were pouring down her cheeks. She was vaguely aware of Bessie saying something in the background and Milford hushing her, but Sportacus continued as if they were the only two people in the room.

"Second, I want you to know that you are completely free, Stephanie. You haven't made any promises to me, you understand? You have no commitment to me and you are breaking no vows. You are free, and your life is going to be beautiful. Leave Lazytown, go to college, become a wonderful dancer, meet a man who you can love, live every second to the full."

She looked him straight in his eyes.

"And is that what you're going to do?" she asked. "Are you going to walk out of here, go back home and find someone else to be with, and forget all about me?"

He knew what he should say, knew the words that she needed to hear, but he had never been able to lie to her, even when he knew it was for her own good.

"There will never, never be anyone else for me," he whispered, and kissed her just once, full on the lips. Then he turned around and walked quietly out of the room. Outside, the sun was shining brightly and there were birds singing overhead. As they stood, silently listening, they heard the sound of the airship powering up and flying away for the last time.

Stephanie looked at her aunt and uncle, who looked back at her with their faces full of love and concern,.

"Stephanie," began Bessie, "I know right now you're very upset, but - "

Without speaking, she ran from the room and left them standing by the window.


	6. Chapter Five Two Hearts

**Chapter Five - Two Hearts**

She fled to the safety of her room and crawled under the duvet, sobbing. There was a pain in her chest. She felt as if someone had fastened a piece of elastic cord tightly around her heart, and as the distance between them lengthened, she could feel the elastic pulling tighter and tighter, squeezing her until she could hardly move with the pain. But she welcomed it, because as long as it still hurt, she could imagine that they were still connected…with her eyes tightly shut, she imagined that she could follow this long, fragile link between them and somehow be with him again…

…automatically he banked the airship and piloted it smoothly across Lazytown, scanning the streets and fields beneath him for trouble even as he remembered that he was not the town hero any more, that he had been stripped of his crystal and banished…he was numb and heartsick with the knowledge that, despite his good intentions and years of patient, dedicated service, he had failed in his task. He had been so focused on his need to protect Stephanie, he had forgotten to consider that they might do something that would hurt the rest of the town. _There must have been some other way,_ he thought desperately, _something else I could have done._ _I failed them all, even though I tried so hard to protect them. Stephanie is safe, but the town will fall again. And it's my fault._

He had sometimes heard Lazytown people talk about certain feelings "tugging on their heartstrings", and had wondered idly if a _heartstring_ was just another of those small differences between their people and his. Now he felt the pain of leaving Stephanie deep in his heart, a tight band wrapped around it, pulling tighter with every moment he travelled away from her, and he understood at last. As he paused the airship for a moment and looked back over the town that had become his home for one last time, he wondered if it was possible to follow the line of it all the way back to her. If he could just know how she was, if she was being comforted by Trixie, if she was wiping the tears from her face and vowing to move forward, he might be able to begin to forgive himself…

…she was lying in her bed, huddled under the duvet, shivering with misery. She could hear the doorbell ringing, and heard Richie's voice in the hallway.

"Did Stephanie get home all right, Mrs Meanswell? I left her with Sportacus, he said he'd bring her home safely."

"Oh, he brought her home all right," Bessie replied grimly.

"Can I see her? We - er - we had a bit of a fight last night, I wanted to make sure…"

"That's very sweet of you, Richie, but I'm not sure Stephanie feels quite up to visitors right now. She's resting in her room for a while."

"Oh. Well, could you give her this note?"

"Of course, dear. So thoughtful of you to drive all this way just to see how she is. Have a safe trip home now." The door shut.

"Stephanie?" Bessie tapped at Stephanie's door. "Can I come in?"

Stephanie wanted to refuse, but, even now, she couldn't bring herself to be that rude.

"Yes," she whispered.

Bessie came and sat down at the end of the bed.

"Dearest, Richie came around to see you. He left you this note…" she held the envelope out to her. Mechanically, Stephanie took it and put it, unopened, on her bedside table.

"Aren't you going to open it?" Stephanie shook her head. "You know, we have a lot of things to talk about…a lot of things that we need to do." She paused, but Stephanie just stared at her. "You're starting at the Conservatoire in less than a week. We need to drive into Metropolis and find you somewhere to live, for example. That will be fun, won't it? I have the addresses of some really lovely rooming houses from the Conservatoire. And you'll need lots of new things, of course, I thought maybe we could go shopping while we're there…"

"I'm not going," whispered Stephanie.

"Do you mean you want to choose somewhere to live without seeing it? Dear, I don't think that's wise…you need to make sure you like the other girls in the building, you need to see what the neighbourhood is like…"

"I'm not going to the Conservatoire."

Bessie looked at her, frightened.

"What do you mean? You have to, you've worked so hard, that's been your dream since you were a little girl…you can't let this, this, this - "

"This _what_?" Stephanie yelled suddenly. "This little incident where you broke my heart and his for absolutely no reason? The way you interfered in the most beautiful, perfect thing that has ever, ever happened to me and took it away? The way you stood there in Uncle Milford's office and screamed at him and insulted him and then made Uncle banish him? And now we'll never see each other again, never - " tears poured down her face.

"Stephanie, please, I know right now it feels a little hard, but don't throw everything away like this just because of one little mistake. You can put it behind you, you can be happy, you'll have the chance to follow your dreams, far away from Lazytown - "

_I can't follow my dreams because I've lost my heart_, Stephanie wanted to say, but she couldn't find the strength to continue. Instead she turned away and buried her face in the pillow. She felt Bessie pat her on the shoulder and shrugged it off, knowing she was being childish, but unable to help herself. After a minute she heard her go out and close the door. She closed her eyes tightly and focused again on the pain around her heart, drawing tighter, tighter, tighter…

…After a few hours he stopped the airship to take some bearings and plan the next stage of his unbearably lonely journey. He was over mountains, mossy-green and dotted with deer and wild sheep on the slopes, the tallest ones capped with a sprinkling of snow, and he knew by their utter unfamiliarity that he would never see his adopted home again. He turned away from the view that hurt his heart with its strangeness, and looked around the airship. The bed was still unmade, and he could see the outline of their bodies on the sheets and pillow, the place where, dazed and dizzy with bliss, they had lain in each other's arms only a few hours ago. Five or six long, silky pink threads clung to the pillow…

He cried then, as he had not cried since he was a boy, great shuddering sobs that shook his whole body, as he knelt by the bed with his face buried in the pillow that still smelled faintly of her.

…flattened by pain and heartbreak, Stephanie lost track of time. At mealtimes she sat numb and silent at the table, picking at her food, waiting for the minutes to pass so that she could retreat to her room again. Uncle Milford and Aunt Bessie made bright, artificial conversation and exchanged panic-stricken looks, looks that she didn't see because she couldn't bring herself to glance at them. She was aware that Trixie, Pixel, Stingy, Ziggy and Richie were all frantically trying to reach her, but she couldn't find the energy to answer the phone calls or text messages, to reply to the emails that stacked up in her inbox, or even to answer Trixie's nightly signals from the window opposite. Three flashes of the torch: _can you come over to talk?_ One flash: _are you grounded?_ Five flashes: _emergency, I really need to see you asap._ Torch in the window left on all night:_ I know you can't answer, but I'm thinking of you._

Days away from Lazytown, over the cold and difficult beauty of the North Atlantic, he ran into a tremendous storm that came out of nowhere, filling the sky with driving rain and turning the sea a murky, churning black. The water rose beneath him in waves eighty feet high, while tiny sea-birds floated up and down on it like pieces of flotsam. Hovering next to the airship he saw an albatross, riding the winds effortlessly. It seemed to wink at him as it floated by: _What on earth are you doing up here, idiot? This is my place…_

Grimly he hung on to the wheel of the airship, searching for the currents of air that the albatross knew instinctively, hoping the ship would not simply tear itself apart as it struggled to ride the storm. He thought he had it for a moment, then there was a sickening lurch as the ship dropped fifty feet downwards and the engines stalled for a few heart-stopping seconds.

He wondered for a terrible minute why he was fighting so hard for survival, when everything that had made life such a sweet, surprising adventure was gone, and would never come to him again. The sea would welcome him into the quiet, still depths, as it had so many other voyagers whose faith was gone. All he would have to do would be to take his hands off the wheel and stop fighting this unequal battle with the endless power of the storm…but he refused to give in to the impulse: he knew he had to keep fighting. The one thing that remained to him was to continue to be the man she had fallen in love with, the hero who could do the impossible, win any battle, overcome any odds. He would not let her down…

"Come on!" he shouted at the ship. "Re-start engines! Re-start engines! We can do this!" He forced the airship upwards again, wincing at the screaming of the engines, wrestling with the wheel. For an hour he fought with the storm, coaxing and pleading with the ship to hold itself together while the wild winds tossed them around the sky. Then finally he found a current that led him through the deep, terrible stillness of the storm's eye and out of the other side to safety, and the ship hovered at last in black and starry skies over waters as smooth as glass. Almost too tired to move, he climbed out of the seat.

"Sleeping bag," he said to the ship, and caught the bundle that flew out of the wall. He still couldn't bear to touch the bed, to destroy the last faint traces of Stephanie's presence, to erase the last reminders of the time when they had lain there and laughed and talked and made love.

She could hear her Aunt and Uncle talking outside her bedroom door.

"Accidents happen, Milford," Bessie said firmly. "Construction work is dangerous, the men all know that…"

"Two accidents inside of a week, Bessie," he replied, sounding worried. "And they're having all sorts of problems with the equipment as well. Three more of the trucks had to be taken over to Smallville for repair this afternoon. The schedule's slipping by the day. They're talking about putting security guards on the site to see if someone is sabotaging them. Security guards! In Lazytown! And the Stanford family came to see me yesterday; they're thinking of giving up their lease and moving back to the city. What's happening to our town?"

"Ssshhh," said Bessie tenderly. "You're doing your best, darling Milford. Just as we all are. No-one could work harder for this town than you do. Try not to worry. One piece of good news for you, dear; I heard from the Conservatoire. They've agreed to defer Stephanie's place until next semester. We'll still have to pay her tuition, but the place will still be open for her."

"What did you tell them?"

"I said she'd had a severe injury and needed time to recuperate. When she's feeling more herself again, I'll explain to her."

"She says she won't go at all." Milford's voice was doubtful. "Bessie, what if we did the wrong thing and - "

"Teenage girls say these things all the time," Bessie soothed him. "One day she'll understand that it was only to protect her…"

He hovered high above the waterfall, waiting for the time to be right. Below him was the entrance back to the world he had come from, the place he knew he should call home. But for him, _home_ would always be a bright, sunny town, close to nowhere in particular, surrounded by lush green fields and bathed in the sweetest sunshine. The thread around his heart was stretched to its tightest point; he could hardly breathe with the pain of it. He knew that once he passed through the waterfall, the thread would snap and he would finally be separated from the girl he would love until he died. It came to him again that it would be so easy to mis-time his drop into the curtain of falling water, and allow the air-ship to crash into the foaming torrent below and splinter on the wicked rocks…but once again he put the thought firmly aside. Far below in the water, he could see the faint, flickering light that indicated the doorway was open.

"Goodbye, Stephanie," he whispered, and began the steep descent.

…far away in Lazytown, Stephanie lifted her head from her pillow and cried aloud with the knowledge that he had finally reached his home. The invisible thread around her heart had snapped; the pain was gone; after being as close to each other as two people could be, they were finally sundered.

"Goodbye," she whispered, wiping the tears from her face. Worn out with grief, she fell so deeply asleep that she didn't even hear Bessie come into her room to see what was wrong, or feel the tender kisses she planted on her cold, tear-stained cheeks.

He came safely through the waterfall, and landed the ship in the soft, white light of the port. He could see the two port officials, a man about his own age and an older woman with green eyes and soft white hair, running over the subterranean landing field to reach him.

"Who is it?" the woman asked as the door to the airship opened. "Why, it's Number Ten! Sportacus, is it? We weren't expecting you to visit. What a wonderful surprise." Then, when she saw the grief and weariness on his face, "My dear, what's wrong?" Instinctively she put her arms around him.

"I failed," he whispered, surrendering to the comfort of being held like a small boy. "I tried, but I couldn't protect them all…"

"But what on earth happened?" asked the man curiously. "Chairs!" he said to the airship. "Sit down, tell us all about it."

"Can't you see he's exhausted?" the woman said severely. "No-one's expecting him, let him have a chance to eat and sleep. The report can wait until the morning at least. Really, you need to show some consideration to the poor boy, he must have been travelling for days - "

"No, I don't mind, I'm happy to report now," interrupted Sportacus. "I…they cancelled the contract."

"But why on earth would they cancel?"

He sighed. "I fell in love."

They looked at him, bewildered.

"But that's allowed, isn't it? Unless - was it a man? Sometimes they can be very _odd_ about these things…"

"No, a woman. Stephanie. The niece of the Mayor. I - we knew they wouldn't be happy about it, but I loved her so much, and I think she felt the same…"

"But why were they so upset about it? Surely, love is a good thing. If they love her they must have wanted her to be happy?"

"That's just it, I don't know! There was someone else they preferred for her, but I don't think that can have been all of it…her Aunt said I'd break her heart …" he was almost incoherent with tiredness, swaying on his feet with the exhaustion of his long journey.

"Her Aunt? Meanswell is married?"

"Yes, to Miss Busybody."

"Not _Bessie_ Busybody?" They exchanged sharp looks.

"Yes. Why, what difference does it make?"

"Now that is _quite enough_ for one day," said the woman firmly. "What on earth is the matter with you, forcing this poor boy to go through all of this now? It will wait until the morning, my dear. Would you prefer to sleep here on the ship or would you like to come home with one of us?" Her eyes strayed to the unmade bed and she clicked her tongue. "Does your ship need repair? I'll send someone to look at it in the morning."

"No! Leave it, it's fine, I want it that way." The man and woman raised their eyebrows, but said nothing.

"We'll leave you to sleep, then," the woman said soothingly, and patted him on the arm. "Welcome home, my dear."

He tried to smile, but in the privacy of his own head he thought despairingly: _I can never go home again_.

She slept the long, dreamless, motionless sleep that comes at the end of deep grieving, sleeping right through the hot late summer day, not waking until evening, when the breeze stirred the curtains and ruffled through her hair. Sitting up in her bed in confusion, she looked across the road and saw that Trixie still had her torch propped under her curtain, the beam shining straight into her room: _I'm thinking of you._ Scrabbling through her bedside table, she found her torch and signalled back with three quick flashes. Within seconds, she saw a lithe dark form slide down from the window and dash across the street, and then Trixie was climbing in between the curtains, her arms held out to Stephanie.

"Pinkie, what _happened_? It's been more than two weeks, we've all been trying to contact you…Stingy and Pixel were frantic, they had to leave for Boston without saying good-bye. Haven't you been getting your emails? I think Pixel's sent you one or two an hour for every day since he and Stingy got there, your inbox has probably crashed by now. And Bessie's been standing guard over the front door like a dragon. She wouldn't even let me in. All she'd say was that you'd had an accident and you needed some time to get well." She stroked her friend's hair away from her face. "And Richie wouldn't say a word about what happened, just went around for three days looking like he was about to throw himself under a bus and then disappeared off to Metropolis without saying goodbye to anyone." Trixie's eyes narrowed. "Pinkie, tell me he didn't have anything to do with this…"

"No," whispered Stephanie. "It wasn't anything to do with Richie, not really. I - oh, Trixie," she wailed, "he's gone. Sportacus is gone. My uncle banished him. And now I'll never see him again…"

"He did _what_?" Trixie stared. "We knew he'd left town, but no-one knew why… Okay, you really need to tell me what's been happening."

"I've been in love with him for years," Stephanie said at last. "I never thought he'd feel the same…"

(_Really? Hmmm. As sweet as honey, as good as gold, as honest as the day is long…but definitely not too bright, either of them,_ thought Trixie to herself, but decided not to say so out loud, as she sat stroking Stephanie's hair.)

"Then, that night we all went out in Smallville, when Richie brought me home - "

"I think I heard about this already," said Trixie. "He said a tree fell on you and he and Sportacus rescued you. Although I can't imagine Richie did too much of the rescuing, judging from how guilty he looked when he said it. And then what happened?"

"Then we were up in his airship. He said it was too dangerous to fly through the storm, so we had the whole night together. And…he told me that he loved me."

Trixie looked at her friend in confusion.

"But, Pinkie, that's fantastic. Isn't it? Please, sweetie, don't say you panicked and turned him down…Jesus, tell me everything. Is he as beautiful with his clothes off as with them on? Tell me you at least got to see him naked."

(_standing stock-still before her in the warm glow of the airship's lights while she undressed him, his fingers tangled in her hair as she explored him, his warm mouth lying sweet and firm over hers_)

"Yes," she said softly. "He's every bit as beautiful. And loving and warm and considerate and generous and - "

(_and so clever, so knowing, so eager to please, so completely talented at pleasing, he knew just how to touch me, when and where and for how long_)

"Okay, you need to stop that now before I get ill. So, you spent the night together. Wow, Pinkie." In the privacy of her own head, Trixie admitted to herself that she was more than a little jealous. "What was it like? Was he - good?"

"He - yes, he was completely wonderful."

"Above average? In every way?" Trixie had finally managed to make Stephanie smile.

"Yes! Yes! Significantly above average, I should think, not that I've got a huge base for comparison." They looked at each other and laughed softly.

"So how did you get from there to here?" Trixie asked at last.

Stephanie winced.

"Robbie Rotten. I don't know how he knew, maybe he saw us the next morning. He crept into the airship and took photos - "

"Ugh," said Trixie involuntarily.

"No, not _that_ sort of photo, we were just asleep, but he sent them to my uncle. We went to see them, my uncle and aunt, to tell them that we loved each other, that we wanted to be together, but Aunt Bessie was so angry, she was screaming at him and saying terrible things, saying he would just get tired of me and move onto someone else, and she wasn't going to let him break my heart…" She had no more tears left in her. Instead she was surprised to find that a powerful anger was stirring deep within her, moving like a cold serpent in her stomach. How _dared _they…

"_Sportacus_?" Trixie looked disbelieving. "Pinkie, there's no way. I've never seen any man look at a woman the way he looked at you. If that wasn't true love, the kind that lasts you through a lifetime, then it just doesn't exist."

Trixie meant this as a comfort, but again Stephanie felt the slow, cold crawl of a deep and righteous rage. She remembered that Bessie had done all she could to keep them from ever being together…

"Come on…let me clean you up a bit and brush your hair. You'll feel better." Trixie reached for the hairbrush and began to smooth the tangled pink strands. Stephanie clenched her slender fists at the bittersweet pain of the memory

(_lying in bed together, laughing and sated, he had wrapped her hair across his throat_)

and made a sudden decision.

"Will you cut my hair for me?"

"You mean you want a new style? Sure, what do you want?"

(_never again. We'll never be together that way again, they sent him away, now there's nothing good left inside me any more, all I've got left in me is this _rage_, this pure, burning fury that I can feel rising up in me, this rage that's going to tear me apart if I don't do something soon to get rid of it_)

"I want it all off. Cut it short for me, Trixie."

"But…look, I know I tease you about it, but it's so beautiful, Pinkie. Are you sure you want me to?"

(_Yes, yes, I want it gone. If he can't touch it any more, then no-one can. I need to do something to get rid of this anger…I want to destroy something._)

"Cut it all off," she said firmly.

Trixie disappeared back through the window, and a minute later came back with her scissors.

"Last chance, Pinkie," she said, as she combed through her friend's hair. "Sure?"

"It's only hair," said Stephanie, trying to lighten the mood. Then for a long time neither of them spoke, and the only sound in the room was the snip of the scissors as Trixie cut off strand after long, pink strand, expertly shaping and smoothing.

"Okay, you're done," sighed Trixie at last.

Stephanie looked in the mirror, and a pale-faced nymph looked back at her from under a sleek, pixie cap of pink hair. The drastic haircut, instead of making her ugly as she had expected and half-hoped for, highlighted unexpected beauties of neck and ear and cheekbone. Again she winced at the pain of memory - would she ever be free of it? -

(_his lips pressed against her ear, telling her over and over again that he loved her_)

Trixie was walking around her admiringly, smoothing strands into place.

"I thought this was a bad idea, but if I say so myself, you look amazing," she said. "If Harvard gets dull, maybe I'll just come back here and open a world-class hair salon after all." She paused. "You know, Stephanie…maybe there's a way we could find him…even if your uncle won't let him come back to Lazytown, you could go to Iceland…?"

"Do you think I haven't thought of that?" said Stephanie softly. "If I thought I could find him, I'd be there already. But it doesn't work like that, Trixie. He's…not exactly human, you see. Wherever he's gone back to, it's not somewhere we can reach."

"So Robbie was right," said Trixie, puzzled. "How come he knew so much more about Sportacus than we ever did?" She glanced at the clock. "Look, I have to go soon…Steve's calling me from Metropolis and I don't want to miss his call." She took Stephanie's hand. "Will you come back with me? I don't want to leave you on your own."

Stephanie shook her head.

"Don't worry about me. I'll be fine. I promise I'll call you tomorrow, okay?"

Trixie hesitated, then climbed back out through the window and ran across the street.

As soon as she was sure Trixie was gone, Stephanie reached for her bag and slung it over her shoulder. Her exhaustion was gone, and she was completely wired with a crackling, nervous energy that would not let her keep still. She had to get out of here, before the cold, vicious serpent in her broke free…she flung open the door to the kitchen.

Her aunt and uncle were sitting hunched over the kitchen table, holding hands and talking quietly. Her uncle looked ten years older than he had a few weeks ago. His suit looked too big on him, and there were new wrinkles around his eyes that she had not noticed before. Her aunt's hair was carelessly scraped back from her face in a tight, unflattering bun, and Stephanie realised that for the first time she could ever remember, she was not wearing a scrap of make-up. It was worry over her that had done all of this, she realised, and felt guilty and sick at seeing what she was doing to these two kind, fumbling people who loved her unconditionally…then the serpent stirred again, and she remembered her rage.

"Stephanie, dear," stammered Bessie. "Are you all right? You've been asleep all day, we've been so worried about you…" she gasped. "What have you done to your hair?"

Stephanie looked at the woman who had separated her from the man she loved, and felt a tide of ugly words rising up within her, threatening to spill out: _I hate you. I'll never forgive you. You spiteful, dried-up, selfish, stupid old woman…_

By a huge effort of will, she managed to hold back the tide of anger.

"I'm going out," she said. "There's someone I have to talk to." She stalked across the kitchen and slammed the door on their anxious enquiries.

She stormed through the town, feeling the wind cold on the back of her newly-exposed neck, to the place where they all knew he lived.

"Robbie!" she screamed into the air. "Robbie! _Robbie Rotten_! Come out here where I can talk to you, _right now_!"

"There's no need to shout," a voice drawled in her ear. "I've been expecting you for days and days. Cute haircut, by the way. Very gamine. Suits you."

She stared at him. He was wearing a black-and-red silk dressing-gown: in one hand was a bottle of whiskey.

"I expect you've come to inflict some ill-planned tirade on me about how this is all my fault," he sighed, "which would be so _predictable_ and very, very boring. But I've got a better idea. Why don't you come down below with me for a drink, and I'll tell you all about what really happened to you and that tiresomely perfect lover of yours. I've got all the answers, little girl; I'm the only one who can help."

She stared at him.

"You mean - you know a way I can fix things?"

"Of course not, you poor deluded child. I mean I know a way you can spend the rest of your life enjoying a prolonged and interesting revenge. Are you in or are you out?"

_This is a bad idea_, she thought to herself.

But, driven by the cold, hateful rage within her, she followed him.


	7. Chapter Six Drink to get Drunk

**Chapter Six - Drink to get drunk**

"Make yourself at home," said Robbie, gesturing around him with the whiskey bottle. "But _don't_ sit in the furry chair. Only I sit in the furry chair. And for goodness sake, don't _touch_ anything." He rummaged briefly in a cupboard. "I don't seem to have any clean glasses. Looks like we're drinking out of the bottle." He raised it in her direction. "Here's to you, Barbie girl. You finally achieved what I never managed to in ten years of trying. You got Sportacus banished from Lazytown for ever." He took a drink, and held the bottle out to her.

"I - what do you mean - it was _your_ fault, Robbie, not mine - "

"Oh, yes, of course it was!" laughed Robbie. "Now I remember. _I_ spent years flirting and dangling after him, until he finally stopped seeing me as one of those little kids whose shoelaces he used to help tie and noticed I was all grown up at last, and took me into his bed - no doubt after an endless amount of agonised hesitation over whether he was taking advantage of you." He smiled nastily as he saw her wince. "Then _my_ aunt had a huge conniption about the big, bad, sexy, well-muscled, _much_ older man fooling around with her little girl, and then _my_ uncle banished him! You're right, I apologise. My bad. Have a drink."

Completely stunned, Stephanie took a large, incautious drink.

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?" she asked, when she had finished choking and got her breath back.

"Better? What kind of person do you think I am? No, of course it doesn't make you feel _better_. It makes you feel _drunk_, Barbie girl. It numbs the pain of loss, you'll find; temporarily, of course, but then you can always buy more." He took the bottle back from her.

"Now wait just a minute!" she shouted, remembering the pure rage that had driven her here. "If you hadn't sent them my uncle those photographs - "

"Ah, yes, the _photographs_. My God, you should have seen the look on your face, although _he_ took it annoyingly in his stride…well, I admit they probably didn't exactly _improve_ matters, but then really, you'd both already made things so disastrously bad for yourselves that I don't think I did much more than pop the cherry on the top." He smiled mirthlessly. "No pun intended, although come to think of it, it is rather a good one." He looked at her over the top of the whiskey bottle. "So, tell me, darling, because I'm _dying_ to hear - just how were you and that good-hearted dimwit going to explain it to them?"

She could feel the whiskey spreading warmth and weakness through her limbs, and sat down on the podium beside Robbie. All the fight was going out of her.

"We were going to tell them the truth," she said sadly. "We were going to tell them we loved each other. We did tell them, but - "

"But she wouldn't listen, and he fell meekly into line behind the force of her maternal wrath," Robbie finished for her, and passed her the bottle. "Love, hmm? How completely saccharine and dull of you both. Did he actually tell you that, little girl, or did you just innocently presume that no-one would ever think of peeling those little white cotton panties off you just for the sheer fun of it?"

She took another swig from the bottle. This time she was prepared for the burn.

"He told me," she said softly.

"Bet he wouldn't let you say it back, though, would he?" said Robbie with completely unexpected acuteness. "My, my, my, Sportacus, how well I know you and your tiresome, self-sacrificing - "

"_What_? No, he wouldn't, but how - how did you know - "

"I know, my dear," said Robbie, "because I am infinitely older, wiser and better-travelled than you are - to say nothing of better-dressed - and I don't spend every minute of my day hitting balls with sticks or teaching talentless children to dance badly. He was _protecting_ you, my sweet, although personally I can't imagine why he bothered. It's a terrible thing, to go back on your sworn word to one of the _Haldufolk_. As the mayor is no doubt beginning to discover. Drink up. And pass it on when you've done."

She stared at him.

"You were in love with him, too," she said suddenly. "I saw the way you looked at him…that's why you wanted him out of town, isn't it? You were jealous because he wanted me and not you, so you ruined it for us…"

"What a starry-eyed, naive little brat you are," he said irritably. "No, I wasn't in love with him. I found him completely irritating, if you want to know. Although I will admit if he'd ever turned up on my doorstep, all lost and lonely and begging to be taken in, I wouldn't have turned him out into the cold night - just as long as he kept his mouth shut while I had my wicked way with him. Sadly, it never worked out…"

"Then how do you know so much about him?"

He looked thoughtfully down at her for a long time.

"I'll make a deal with you," he said finally. "If you can drink three fingers out of that bottle without being sick, I'll show you something that will absolutely blow your mind, and finally convince you that we're actually on the same side after all."

She hesitated. "Your fingers or my fingers?"

"Ahh, _now_ you're beginning to get the idea how the game is played. Okay, let's say…your fingers, since you're clearly such an amateur at this whole dancing-with-the-devil thing."

She forced it down.

"Right," she said breathlessly, "show me."

Robbie uncoiled himself from the podium and sauntered slowly over to a cupboard.

"Have you seen a newspaper recently, by the way?" he asked over his shoulder. "Or have you spent every minute since the mayor suddenly found his _cojones_ and got rid of your One True Love in crying and tearing your hair out? That ridiculous monorail project is already starting to come apart at the seams, I notice. One man nearly crushed to death underneath the arm of a crane that slipped for no reason, one man trapped by a rock-fall and having to be dug out…I imagine the mayor is feeling the heat right about now. Do you think he's regretting his hasty decision yet? Or has the penny not yet dropped?"

Hazily, she remembered Sportacus desperately trying to tell her uncle something. _Every action has consequences._

"But he wouldn't," she said rather incoherently. "He just _wouldn't_!"

"No, _he_ wouldn't," agreed Robbie, weaving his way back with something in his hand. "Not on purpose. Not even to get revenge on the people who took him away from the love of his life. Hell, I doubt if he has it in him to swat a mosquito. But unfortunately for your uncle, it doesn't work like that. It's just one of those rather annoying natural laws, you see. You drop a plate of cake, it falls to the ground - or more probably onto your foot. You drink three fingers of whiskey, you begin to lose your inhibitions and become much more amusing to talk to. You break a promise to the _Haldufolk_, and the most monumental bad luck will pursue you relentlessly for the rest of your life. And since he took the decision on behalf of the town - well, there it is." He sat down beside Stephanie and looked speculatively at her delicate profile. "That really is rather a good haircut, by the way. Makes you look like Peter Pan. Although no doubt you only did it because you couldn't bear the memory of him running his fingers through it…" He smiled as he saw her eyes darken with pain. "People in love are _so_ predictable. Have another drink."

"And what would you know about people in love, Robbie?" she asked, with spirit.

"You know," he said meditatively, "it's rather good fun drinking with someone else for a change. We should do it more often….what do I know about love? I know that it's at the root of most of the problems of this world, my dear little protégé. I suppose you know that if he _had_ let you pour out your girlish little heart to him, you'd have been free to go with him? He probably just couldn't believe that you would ever choose him over everything else...Love again, you see. If he'd been looking at you straight he'd just have seen a rather ordinary girl with an embarrassingly large crush on him, and known you'd follow him to the ends of the earth if he crooked his little finger in your direction."

"Why are you telling me this?" she wailed.

He laughed. "Barbie, bad people generally have very simple motives. Think hard. I'm sure the answer will occur to you. Now, I believe I was on the point of rearranging your world view for ever. _Don't_ spill anything on it, or I'll be forced to get angry, which is bad for my blood pressure..." He held something out to her.

She looked down at a black leather-bound album with faded gold embossing on the cover: _Lazytown High School Year Book_. Curiously, she opened it. It fell open at a page towards the back.

The High School had barely changed since the photograph was taken. She recognised the back steps leading down to the sports field where she and the gang had loved to hang out in the warm summer sunshine. Leaning elegantly against the railings was a boy of around eighteen. He was long, lean, louche, _joli-laid_, his coal-black hair slicked back from his face, a cigarette in a long holder balanced elegantly between slim fingers.

Caught in the act of jumping exuberantly down from the top step was a lovely, laughing girl with blue eyes and bright yellow curls bouncing around her face. She was small, curvy and looked ready to burst out of her skin, mouth-watering and luscious, like a perfectly ripe peach. Her cheerleader's skirt flipped and swirled around her thighs as she leapt into space.

Standing on the very top step, arms folded, was an athletic-looking man dressed in green tracksuit bottoms and a white t-shirt, a green waistcoat fastened over his chest with a crystal, emblazoned with a "9". He was smiling indulgently at the two of them. The caption under the photograph read: "The two Lazytowners most likely to make Broadway, spending some quality time with the Town Hero."

"That's you, isn't it," she said, pointing at the boy. "And who's the girl?"

"Can't you see it? Well, she has put on a bit of weight since then, of course. And then the hair…I always said her kind of looks would never last. But in her day, she was quite the toast of the town..."

"Why, it's Auntie Bessie," said Stephanie, staring.

"And at last she sees it! Yes, that pretty little scrap of fluff there grew up to be your dear old dragon of an aunt. Amazing, isn't it, how time takes its toll? But at the time, we were actually rather good friends."

_"You and Auntie Bessie?"_

"We shared a common dream, my dear. The stage! And of course, I'm sure even you can see the advantages, to one of my _persuasion_, of having a very visible crush on the school's most popular girl - to save those awkward little conversations with one's parents, for example. _Robbie, when are you going to meet a nice girl and bring her home so we can meet her?_ So much easier to claim I was saving myself for the delectable Miss Busybody...Please, _do_ take that disapproving look off your face and stop thinking I should have just been _true to myself_. If you even _think_ about saying the words out loud I may have to hit you over the head with this bottle. Are you gay? Is it twenty years ago? Do you know what it was like? I thought not."

Stephanie lowered her eyes.

"And who's that standing behind you?"

He sighed theatrically. "I know most dancers don't have too much need for the exciting world of numbers bigger than eight, but surely you can work it out…Number Nine. Comes just before "ten", I believe you'll find. The Hero who preceded your beloved Sportacus. Not bad-looking, I'm sure you'll agree, although of course they never are. And _considerably_ more fun than that lily-white Sir Galahad they eventually sent to replace him. Pass the whiskey."

They drank in silence for a while. Stephanie could feel her ears singing with dizziness. Robbie was right about one thing, she thought hazily; it did definitely make you feel numb. She looked at the picture again.

"So which one of you did he - ?" asked Stephanie suddenly.

Robbie laughed.

"You're really much brighter now the whiskey's loosened you up a bit. _Now_ you're starting to think along the right lines…it was _both_ of us, my dear, one way and another. He was fucking me for all of one summer, and then Bessie decided she was going to try him on for size too, so we kind of _overlapped_ for a short while…oh, don't give me that look, Barbie. If you can do it, I can certainly talk about it."

"It's a completely disgusting way to talk about it."

"But that's how it was, my dear. He wasn't _making love_ to me; it was just fucking. Simple, uncomplicated, sweaty and completely fabulous. Whenever and wherever we could find the opportunity. Every single way we could think of."

"And then he fell in love with Auntie Bessie?"

"Oh, _please_…he didn't love her either. She just went after him like a heat-seeking missile. He hadn't got a chance of turning her down…she had all the boys wrapped around her little finger. All the straight ones, anyway. I can't say I could really see the appeal myself, but then it would be _such_ a dull world if we all wanted the same thing…"

"But you did both want the same thing," said Stephanie, trying not to slur her words. "Didn't you mind sharing him? Weren't you jealous?"

"It was what there was," said Robbie rather shortly, and drank.

"That's very sad," said Stephanie after a while. He turned and glared at her.

"You just can't get past what happened to you, can you? Just get used to it, Barbie; _I'm not you_. I didn't love him. He didn't love me. We were just having fun; the kind of fun you've been so foolishly missing out on all these years. Let me tell you how it was…"

_Leaning against the wall of the high school, alone and bored out of his mind, smoking the millionth cigarette of the day, fingering the transparent wrap of white powder that he had scored on his trip into Smallville. Wondering if the buzz would be worth the indecent amounts of money it had cost. Then someone put a fatherly hand on his shoulder and said, "You know, you really shouldn't smoke, Robbie…it's very bad for your heart."_

_"Not as bad as this is going to be," Robbie replied, letting the wrap dangle between his fingers, trying to shock._

_"Now that really is a bad idea," he replied gently, taking it away and examining it. "Whatever the problem is, I don't think you're going to find the answer in there. What is it? Cocaine?"_

_"Ha! No. Just a dab of speed."_

_"Well, I still don't think it's going to help you feel better. Why don't you tell me what the trouble is?"_

_"I think you know what the trouble is," said Robbie savagely._

_He sighed. "Why do you fight your own nature like this, Robbie? Why do you insist on trying to destroy yourself? There's nothing to be ashamed of in who you are."_

_"Easy for you to say."_

_He hesitated a moment, then smiled. "Then why don't you let me show you instead…" He laid his mouth over Robbie's._

_Robbie looked at him in amazement. "You too? And_ all this time _you never said?"_

_He laughed. "Let's just say that I'm...open to persuasion. In either direction."_

_They kissed again, then he laid a warning finger across Robbie's mouth._

_"Now, before we go any further, I need you to understand something…this is just for fun, okay? Just to prove to you that you don't need to hate your body so much you feel compelled to fill it with drugs and nicotine. When you're ready to leave Lazytown and follow your dreams, that will be absolutely fine with me. Are you happy with that, Robbie?"_

_Robbie smiled._

_"Love is for idiots," he said lightly. "Let's have some fun."_

"And he would have been quite happy to have a bit of hot, sticky, uncomplicated fun with Bessie, too," Robbie continued, "since that was what she seemed to want from him. It would have been fine if she'd had the plain common sense to realise that. But no, instead she had to go and convince herself that it all _meant_ something, just because she'd got it into her head that he felt the same way she did…"

"But that wasn't fair," said Stephanie. "He should have realised how she felt, he should have known…"

Robbie shrugged. "Maybe he should, but the fact is that he didn't. How was he supposed to guess? Suddenly she was all over him, making it perfectly clear it was all there on a plate for him…" He drank moodily from the bottle. "I'll give him some credit; he was genuinely quite startled when he found out she was a virgin. I remember him telling me all about it afterwards…"

"Oh, that's horrible!" exclaimed Stephanie, revolted.

"Really? So you didn't exchange any confidences with Sportacus, then? No little intimate secrets shared? No, don't tell me, I don't think I could stand to hear about it. Ugh. Actually, he told me about it because he was worried. He wasn't really a bad person, you know. He just liked us both, and he never really knew how to say no. Anyway, that was the night it all fell apart…"

_Robbie welcomed him with a warm embrace, but he pushed him gently away. So instead he lit a cigarette and lay on the bed, watching his lover through the coils of smoke._

_"I think I've done something awful," he said, pacing the floor._

_Robbie raised a languid eyebrow._

_"Really? I find that rather hard to believe. Do tell me…you were in such a hurry to get here you forgot to get someone's ball down from the roof?"_

_"Robbie, I'm serious. Your friend, Bessie…she was waiting for me, just outside my airship, she kissed me and whispered that she'd always wanted to see inside. She caught me by surprise, I couldn't say no…"_

_(Robbie had to look away.)_

_"And then, afterwards, she looked up at me with these huge, innocent blue eyes and told me it was her first time, and the look in her eyes…! I swear, Robbie, I wouldn't have dreamed of laying a finger on her if I'd known…"_

_"So what did you say to her?" he asked, trying to hide his jealousy._

_"I told her that I was flattered she chose me to practice on, but she really needed to be with someone more suitable, and left. I think I really hurt her feelings." He continued to pace the room. "What can I say to her to make it right?" _

_Robbie uncoiled himself from the bed, and put his arms around his lover._

_"Come here," he drawled, stubbing the cigarette out on the head of his bed. "I'll take that panicked look off your face. She'll be fine in the morning. I don't know why you bothered with her when you could have been here with me…"_

_"Robbie," he said gently, stroking his face, "we both know there's nothing serious going on here. But when I'm with you, I'm with you. You know that."_

_"Be with me, then," murmured Robbie, and after that neither of them said anything for a long time, and it was hot and rough and hard and exciting, just as it always was. Wrapped around each other on the bed, they suddenly heard a scream from the door, and they turned around to see that Bessie was standing in the doorway, her face white and shocked._

_"Bessie, sweetheart…" he sat up and looked at her imploringly._

_"How could you?" she whispered. "What kind of man are you?"_

_"Bessie, come on. Is this really so wrong? Who's getting hurt? I thought you just wanted some fun, if you thought it meant more then I am so, so sorry, I wouldn't have hurt you for the world, but - "_

_"And Robbie…how could_ you_? What are_ you _doing with him, it's -" her face hardened. "You make me feel sick, both of you. Do you hear me? Absolutely sick. It's disgusting and wrong and dirty and I am going to finish you both!" She turned and ran from the room._

"So that was the end of that," concluded Robbie. She went to see the Mayor the next day and told him she'd caught us in the act, and my dear, the _fuss_!" He took another swig from the bottle, and Stephanie saw that his hand was shaking. "None of them ever found out about him and Bessie, of course, and they hushed up the fact that he'd been caught buggering one of the high-schoolers…good God, the look on your face! You really are a snow-white little innocent, aren't you?" His eyes wandered again to the pure, tender line of her neck. "Hmmm. I don't suppose you've loosened up enough to consider…" he stroked the back of her neck with his long, lazy fingers. Stephanie shivered.

"What's the matter…are you afraid you might find you like it? I promise _he'll_ never find out. Sex without love, my dear, is definitely one of the wickedest pleasures life has to offer…you should try it. I guarantee I can show you things Sportacus has never even dreamed of…" He bent down and nipped gently at her skin with his teeth. "How about it, Barbie girl? Just two old friends cheering each other up on a dull night…"

"I thought you were gay," said Stephanie, wriggling out of reach.

"Well, yes, usually…but for you with that hair-cut, I'll make an exception. People are rarely one hundred per cent anything, Barbie. Sure I can't tempt you? Pity." He took his hand away from her thigh, and sighed.

"So, anyway, that was the end of Lazytown. Hero banished, no-one to keep the kiddies safe any more, so that was the end to all the good-clean-fun, fresh-air-and-jollity rubbish that Lazytown was so famous for. After all, let's face it, as locations go it's hardly a winner, is it? Without Number Nine keeping everyone safe and honest, it was just another small town in the middle of nowhere. And then of course the _accidents_ began, and everyone started moving out, and the few who didn't have the gumption to leave just stayed in their houses…oh, it was _magnificent_, Barbie, exactly what they all deserved for the way they behaved. Bessie went to Broadway to try and make it on the stage, got a few little bit parts, slept around a bit, discovered the demon drink, came home discouraged, drank a whole lot more…oh, don't tell me you didn't know _that_! Have you actually been living here with the rest of us all these years, or did I just imagine it?"

"Auntie Bessie does not drink," said Stephanie firmly. "…Oh." She thought about Bessie's long afternoons in the garden, precariously juggling glasses of iced tea while Milford pretended to cut the hedge and watched anxiously over her. "Well, all right. Maybe she does."

"Did," said Robbie scrupulously, holding up an elegant hand. "The Mayor finally managed to dry her out. It's amazing what you can accomplish when you have absolute power. He looks like an idiot, your uncle, but he managed to achieve quite a lot in his bumbling way, especially considering he was only appointed because the previous incumbent skipped town with his pretty wife when it all started to fall apart…it took him ten years, but he managed to charm the _Haldufolk_ into sending another Hero. Then _you_ came bouncing into town, all perky and breathless, and it all started to come back to life again. And then the previous Mayor died and the curse finally faded away, and suddenly the whole place was _buzzing_…I was about ready to kill you both, but fortunately you managed to do the one thing Bessie couldn't stand to watch…now…let's talk about something much more interesting. Let's talk about how you're going to get your revenge."

Stephanie looked at him blankly. She had come down filled with a consuming rage, wanting to hurt everyone around her who had hurt her so badly. To her total shock, she found that it had vanished into the air.

"Come on, Barbie…don't pussy out on me. Bessie ruined my life, and her own, and now she's managed to ruin yours too. With the help of your uncle, of course. That man you were so besotted with, he's thousands of miles away now, you'll never see him again. You've already made such a _fabulous_ start - "

"What?"

"Sulking in your room for days on end, refusing to see or speak to anyone, missing the start of college, then tearing over here to consort with the town Bad Man, and drinking yourself practically into a coma…oh, I imagine they're about at the end of their tether already. Feels good to spread the pain around a bit, doesn't it?"

"But - they didn't mean any harm," said Stephanie, dazed with whiskey and understanding. "Auntie Bessie really was trying to save me. She loves me, she didn't want me to get hurt the way she way was hurt…"

"Oh, she _means_ well," said Robbie sarcastically, "but why would that matter? Will her _meaning well_ keep you warm at night? Don't be so pathetic…This town is going to fall apart without Sportacus to keep it together, and you can make Milford and Bessie's life an absolute _misery_."

"I don't want to make them miserable," she said with sudden conviction. "I want to be the woman he fell in love with. Even if I can never see him again."

Robbie pretended to stick his fingers down his throat.

"In a minute you'll be announcing cheerfully that _There's always a way_," he groaned. "God preserve me from optimistic idiots…if you had the courage to do it, you'd already be gone. But no-one ever gets past the waterfall."

Stephanie stared at him.

"What do you mean?" she asked at last.

Robbie looked at her bemused face, then began to laugh, louder and harder than she had ever seen anyone laugh in her life.

"What do I mean?" he repeated, laughing and laughing. "What do I _mean_? Stephanie Anne Milford, don't you even know who you _are_?"

She shook her head in bewilderment.

"Get out of here," he said, still laughing. "You're a complete disappointment as a budding supervillain, Stephanie, but I'll forgive you because you amused me so much. You need to look into your family history, little girl, then you'll know why. Go on, take your bag and leave."

Trying not to stagger too visibly, Stephanie took her bag from his outstretched hand. For a moment, their eyes met.

"Robbie," whispered Stephanie. "Why did you tell me all of this? What has this whole evening been about? You're - you're not actually trying to _help_ me, are you?"

"I'm not even going to dignify that with an answer," he drawled, flapping a hand at her. "Go away. I'm tired. Leave me in peace and stop asking tiresome questions."

"You know," she said thoughtfully, "you look just like Noel Coward in that dressing-gown." And she climbed up the stairs, stumbling a little as she went.

Later, Trixie held Stephanie's head tenderly as Stephanie threw up and up and up in her bathroom, trying to do it quietly so as not to disturb Trixie's parents.

"What's this, Pinkie?" she asked curiously, picking up a photograph that had fallen out of Stephanie's bag. "Oh…."

Stephanie wiped her clammy face with a towel and looked over Trixie's shoulder.

The couple were pressed tightly together in a too-small bed, his face against the nape of her neck, his arm protectively curled around her slim, delicate body. Her long, long, impossibly pink hair streamed over both of them; their faces were serene in the sunlight, like angels.

"That is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen in my life," said Trixie softly.

Stephanie looked in silence for a while.

"Yes," she said finally, almost to herself. "That's how it was."

She looked at it a moment longer, then tucked it carefully away in her bag. "I think I know what I need to do…I need to go to Boston tomorrow, Trixie; I'm going to need some help from Pixel. Will you come with me?"


	8. Chapter Seven Way Back When

**Chapter Seven - Way Back When (Long Time Gone)**

Sitting opposite Stingy in the café and enjoying a late-afternoon latte, Pixel felt he was beginning to settle into MIT. He had an apartment in the cool part of town (even if it was the size of a postage stamp), a flatmate he genuinely got on with (even if Stingy did insist on vacuuming the carpet twice a day), and a stake in the white-hot world of personal computing technology (even though Six Thousand Ideas was still mainly a few pieces of paper in Stingy's filing cabinet, plus a lot of burnt-out wires and melted plastic.) Their first weekend, Pixel had got talking with a bunch of aeronautics majors dressed in surfer gear, and scrounged an invite for himself and Stingy - mainly on the basis that Stingy would drive them there in his car - for an afternoon's surfing at the beach. At first, Stingy and the surfers had been completely bewildered by each other. Stingy had sat on the beach in his socks and shoes, engrossed in the _Wall Street Journal_, stopping only to raise an eyebrow as Pixel, LJ, Drew, Chip and Andy threw themselves into the waves with huge enthusiasm and no perceptible skill. Afterwards they had all sat around a camp fire drinking beer and eating hot dogs heated in their own can of brine, which Stingy refused with a visible shudder. Then, unexpectedly, they had bonded over the bag of marshmallows which Stingy suddenly produced from his blazer pocket. Stingy insisted on referring to them, with great irony, as "the totally radical surfer dudes", while they referred to him, with no irony at all, as "your weird flatmate with the poker up his ass"; but they got on all right.

"Here," said Stingy suddenly, tossing a piece of paper across the table at Pixel. He picked it up; it was a cheque for fifteen hundred dollars. "Your half of the first sale from Six Thousand Ideas. Koduji bought the speaking-toaster concept."

"_Really_?" Pixel stared at the cheque in awe. "And they paid three thousand dollars for it? Wow."

"Well, we could have got twenty thousand if we'd just sold the entire concept wholesale, but I thought it made more sense to offer them a limited licence for the voice-recognition chip, kitchen appliances only, for the next three years. The three grand is a non-refundable advance against expected future royalties. We're only just starting out, if this one doesn't take off there'll be plenty of others. We're officially in business, Pixel." He smiled his rare, sweet smile, before returning to the page of figures on the cafeteria table before him.

Pixel picked up the cheque as if it might bite him.

"By the way," continued Stingy, "you might want to think about investing that in aluminium futures. It'll mean it's tied up for the next seventeen months, but I'm eighty per cent confident you'll double your money by the end of it. The Chinese aerospace market is going to send prices sky-high pretty soon."

"Huh. Okay. I'll get right on it," said Pixel, vaguely. He saw Chip and LJ weaving their lanky way through the tables and waved to them.

"Pixel!" they shouted, and gave him extravagant high-fives. "How you doing, man? Hey, Stingy, got that poker out of your ass yet?"

"How's it hanging, surfer dudes?" replied Stingy dryly, without raising his eyes from his papers. "Still wishing you'd signed on at Cal-Tech instead? Caught any wicked peaks lately?"

"You're really pretty funny, Stingy," said LJ. "Uptight, but funny. Hey, Pixel, there were these, like, totally cute rock chicks looking for you in the courtyard earlier. Asked for you by name. They said they'd be by the fountain for the next hour or so, otherwise they'd see you back at your place."

"Really?" Pixel looked eager; Stingy rolled his eyes. "Maybe I should go and see…what did they look like?"

"One was tiny with these, like, little pig-tails all twisted around themselves? Really emo-looking. And the other one was a bit taller, fabulous build, skinny but enough in the right places, you know? - and this totally wild hair. Seriously, dude…respect." He held out his clenched fist. Stingy laughed and muttered "over-sexed retards" to the universe at large, but shuffled his papers together, put on his blazer and followed Pixel out of the café.

Pixel led the way out to the courtyard. To his joy, he could see two girls sitting at the base of the fountain. The smaller, dark-haired one was sitting with one hand trailing in the fountain, smiling up provocatively at Drew, who was plainly smitten. The other one, sitting with her slender arms wrapped around her knees and gazing pensively into the falling water, had bright pink hair cut in a dainty, elfin shape that emphasised her delicate features…then suddenly they looked up at him and smiled, and he realised they were Trixie and Stephanie.

"Hey!" he shouted, his momentary disappointment wiped out by pleasure at seeing his oldest friends. "Wow! You made it! Why didn't you tell us you were coming?" They laughed and hugged each other. Drew grinned and mouthed "hot" at Stingy, who, just to see if Drew would fall for it, glared and mouthed back "my sisters, you pervert". Drew blushed, held up his hands in apology and sloped hastily off to join the rest of the surfer dudes in the café. Stingy smiled to himself and gave both girls a conservative peck on the cheek.

"So what are you doing here?" asked Pixel, sitting down between Trixie and Stephanie. "Stephanie, it's so great to see you…what happened that week before we went away, anyway? Bessie wouldn't let us see you, she said you were sick…didn't you get the emails? We were really worried."

"I need you to help me," she said, looking straight into his face. "I need you to help me save Lazytown."

Pixel looked blank.

"What?"

"My uncle…he's done something really dumb…he banished Sportacus - he sent him away. And I don't think the town can survive without him."

"Oh, come on, Stephanie," said Stingy uncomfortably. "I know how, er, how fond of him you are - we all are - but don't you think that's a bit dramatic?"

She ran her fingers through her hair. "Do you remember how it was when we were little, when I first moved there?"

_Hardly anyone lived there any more; no-one knew each other or went out much. It was just another tired, lifeless, hopeless little town slowly falling apart. They had been bored and lonely and their parents had kept them inside a lot, and the days were long and dull and filled with emptiness._

"Yes," said Pixel slowly, remembering. "But then…"

_Then, a little girl posted a letter, and out of the sky a Hero arrived. A joyful, innocent, exuberant man who never walked if he could run, who never ran if he could handspring and cartwheel, who talked to them with no self-consciousness or embarrassment. An adult who didn't preach or lecture; who, just by being there, somehow charmed them all into being their very best selves. Who made their ordinary, quiet little town an enchanted place._

"I don't really understand how it works," said Stephanie. "I don't think he does either. But, somehow, he's the heart and soul of Lazytown. And you all know it too, don't you?"

They looked at each other.

"But why did the Mayor do it?" asked Pixel. "We knew Sportacus left town suddenly, but no-one knew why. What happened?"

A tide of crimson washed up over Stephanie's face and neck, and she had to turn away. Pixel looked completely baffled, but Stingy nodded wearily.

"Got together at last?" he murmured. Trixie nodded, and Pixel looked enlightened. "Meanswells not happy?" Another nod. Stingy shrugged. "Figures. Still," he added under his breath, glancing at Stephanie, "probably worth it. On balance. If you like that sort of thing." Trixie raised an amused eyebrow.

"But what is it that you think we can do, Stephanie?" Pixel asked.

Stephanie wrapped her arms around her knees again.

"There's a filing cabinet in my Uncle's office," she said. "I know he's got my birth certificate in there, and all sorts of photographs and family letters and things. It's the only thing I've ever seen him lock. I need to get into it. There's something about my family that's important, something that means there might be a chance to fix all of this."

"How do you know?" asked Stingy curiously. Stephanie sighed: she had promised herself to be absolutely honest.

"Robbie Rotten told me," she said. "I know, I _know_, but please, trust me on this. I need to know what's in that cabinet, whatever it is that my uncle's been hiding."

They all looked at each other. It was undeniable that, over the years, they had all thought there was something mightily peculiar about the way an eight-year-old Stephanie had been foisted on her uncle, ostensibly just for a few weeks one summer, and - aside from the odd two-week vacation - had never left. None of them had ever liked to ask, but still, there was clearly a mystery there, and it was very tempting to have the chance to find out…

"Well…" said Pixel. "What can I do to help?"

For the first time, Stephanie smiled.

"You remember the summer you invented the Lockmaster Six Thousand?"

Pixel winced at the memory. The Lockmaster Six Thousand, built in response to a fervent request from Stingy, was a fingerprint-controlled lock that could be programmed so that it would open only for each individual owner, setting off an incredibly loud alarm if anyone else tried to access it. It worked perfectly until Robbie had found Pixel's master encoder and reprogrammed every single one of them to open for him alone. The only place in town Robbie hadn't locked everyone out of had been Sportacus's airship, because Sportacus had declined to have one on the grounds that he didn't actually mind people dropping in unexpectedly.

"Well, the only one left is the one you gave Uncle Milford. He didn't really know what to do with it, so he put it in a drawer. And then, a few years ago, he must have found it again, because now it's on the filing cabinet in his office."

"So let me see if I've got this right," said Stingy slowly. "You want us to break into your Uncle's office, open a locked drawer - a drawer which is locked with one of Pixel's loudest and most temperamental inventions - and rummage through his files, looking for skeletons in your family closet will somehow tell you how you can save the town. And you believe this because Robbie Rotten, who has been doing his best to get rid of Sportacus since the day he arrived, told you so." He sighed and ran his hands through his hair. "Okay. Let's go."

"You'll help?" asked Stephanie, amazed.

"Given that it there's only one train a week from Boston to Lazytown, and it takes seven hours, and we've missed it, I imagine the use of my car would be a useful part of this ingenious plan. And you need someone there with half a brain in their heads." He looked at Stephanie quizzically. "You know, you didn't have to come all the way here just to ask us…you could have just phoned."

"I know," said Stephanie hesitantly. "But - I've been so - so completely rude and selfish these last couple of weeks. No, don't argue with me, I know I have. You both tried and tried to get in touch with me, and I just hid in my room and refused to answer." She ducked her head down, a gesture left over from the days when she had soft curtains of hair to hide behind. "I thought the least I could do was come down here and - apologise in person."

"Hey, Stephanie," said Pixel softly. "We know how you feel. We've all been there, you know. Every one of us. We love you." He took her hand awkwardly. "We understand."

"Time to go," said Trixie and Stingy simultaneously. Pixel dropped Stephanie's hand and they disappeared across the campus. In the cafeteria above, the surfer dudes watched enviously from the window.

"Hot - as - hell," concluded Drew. "Who knew Poker-Ass would have such totally fuckable sisters?"

They crept quietly along the streets of Lazytown. They passed a car with a window smashed, and noticed that little pools of rubbish were collecting in the corners of some of the gardens.

"I haven't seen anything like that for years," said Trixie sadly. They looked at each other, and drew closer together.

"So what's in the rucksack, then, partner?" Stingy asked Pixel, trying to lighten the mood.

"Oh, I've got a gadget that should get the lock open," Pixel whispered back confidently. "And also I thought we could try these out." He rummaged in his rucksack and produced a tangle of wires and earphones. "I came up with the idea a few months ago. I call it the Voicemaster 6000. You put on the headphones, and - " they watched in puzzlement as Pixel continued to talk, but no sound came out. Hastily they all put on the other headsets.

"…like a private radio network," finished Pixel happily. "Can you all hear each other?"

"Yes," said Stephanie, holding her ears in amazement.

"Very cool," said Trixie, laughing.

"You're a complete idiot, Pixel," said Stingy bitterly.

They set off down the street again.

"For God's sake," Stingy was berating Pixel. "What's _wrong_ with you? Do you actually live on the same planet as the rest of us? You come up with a totally new kind of mobile communications network, guaranteed silence except between users, and what do you give me to sell? Toasters you can have a conversation with. You are _hopeless_! I swear, sometimes I wonder why I even - do you know what blue-chip America would pay for this? And I can't even _begin_ to figure out what the military would give for - "

"No military," Pixel said firmly. "We agreed. Anyway, I _liked_ the toaster. We got three thousand dollars for it, didn't we?"

Stingy rolled his eyes.

"Hey, you guys," said a cheerful voice right by Stingy's ear. Everyone jumped.

"What are all you doing here?" Ziggy, tall and thin and adolescent, hopped from foot to foot, grinning and chewing maniacally. "Why didn't you tell me you were in town? Hey, does anyone want some sugar-free gum?"

They all frantically shushed him. Pixel rummaged in his rucksack and found one more headset, and popped it over Ziggy's head.

"So what are we doing?" Ziggy asked sweetly. "It is all right if I come along, isn't it?"

"Of course it is," said Stephanie firmly. "We're…erm…we'll tell you on the way."

The Town Hall was silent and full of whispering shadows. They crept inside, closing the door behind them. Pixel, Stingy and Ziggy crouched over the last remaining Lockmaster 6000, while Trixie and Stephanie leaned against the railing waiting.

"Got it," said Pixel suddenly. "Oh, no, oh, hell, I haven't got it. Oh, shit, shit, shit, it's going to go off…here!" He grabbed the nearest hand to him, which happened to be Ziggy's. "Keep your finger right here on this wire. We're all right, as long as you stand there with your finger exactly there. Oh, and you can't move it around or the motion sensor will go off."

Ziggy looked at him in disbelief.

"This is my job for the night?"

"It's important stuff, Ziggy," laughed Trixie, ruffling his hair.

"Right," said Pixel simply, pulling open the drawer. "We're in."

They crowded round the row of files. The first folder contained page after page of accounts and reports -

"Mine, I think," said Stingy calmly, taking them out of Pixel's hands. He took them to a table, turned on a pocket torch and began to scan through the ledgers.

- and the second contained endless crayoned pictures of girls in pink dresses that Stephanie remembered walking down the road to post when she was small. The third, headed, "Family Correspondence", contained a stack of letters, written in a dashing, careless hand that Stephanie recognised as her father's.

"Milford old boy,

So, good God! It's happened! I've finally been given the keys to Lazytown, so to speak. Obviously we're going to have a _huge_ party to celebrate - I need to do something to get me over the shock of responsibility!

What a funny business this Mayoral thing is. I've got the keys to the office, the round-and-round leather chair, the account books, and the sworn loyalty - honestly, that's what he said - of Number Nine. You remember him? Built like a track superstar, lives in an airship, looks out for everyone, got on really well with my dad. Apparently he works for the town? - although he doesn't seem to get paid. Can't get a straight answer out of him. I asked him where he came from and he smiled and said "a small island in the North Atlantic". Asked him why he did it - all that superhero stuff - and he said, "because it's what I do". Very strange.

Come for a visit soon. You're all the family I've got left now, cousin Milford; we have to stick together.

Stephen"

"Dear Milford,

I can't thank you enough for taking on the old family firm like this. Helen and I just had to get out of town. She's not been well since that terrific fuss over Robert and Number Nine (did I tell you about that? - Not having _that_ sort of thing in the town if I can help it, especially not with the high-schoolers, for God's sake). And after that business in the stairwell, we just couldn't stay in that house any longer.

Afraid things are in a bit of a mess. Don't know what's been going wrong, to be honest with you; we just can't seem to stay on top of things somehow.

Anyway, I'm sure you're the man to sort it out.

Love and best wishes,

Stephen"

"Dear Milford,

Thanks for your last letter and the accounts for the year. (Has it really been a year already since we left? It hardly seems like two months.) Not the best, are they? Still if people don't want to live out in the boondocks, I personally can't say I blame them.

Helen sends her best.

Love,

Stephen"

"Dear Milford,

Well, here's a shocker for you…it turns out that Helen is pregnant.

Of course I'm acting as pleased as Punch. Between you and me, it's not exactly in the life-plan, but I'm sure I'll come around to the idea in the end. As you're the only family we've got left in the world - will you be her godfather? Let me know.

With love,

Stephen"

"Dear Milford,

Snaps enclosed of the New Arrival. What a funny little object she is…can't quite believe it, really. And I thought running Lazytown was a big responsibility…

With love,

Stephen"

"Dear Milford,

You're a godsend, you know that? Can't thank you enough.

Yes, do please have Stephanie to stay with for the summer. She's a darling, but we haven't got a clue what to do with her all day. (Any chance of you keeping her for good? - joke!)

What's all this about another Hero? Are you sure it's a good idea?

Well, I'll leave it up to you.

I.O.U. (big-time)

Stephen"

At the bottom of the stack was one in a plain brown envelope, marked:

"TO BE OPENED ONLY IN THE EVENT OF MY DEATH"

"Dear Milford,

Well, this is a laugh, isn't it? Hopefully you won't actually be _reading_ this ever, but still, I've fallen off mountains, nearly drowned scuba-diving, got hit by two cars, escaped from a hotel fire, crashed a motorbike…I guess at some point my luck as to run out, right?!

Anyway. If by some god-awful chance you are reading this…take care of Stephanie, okay? She's a good girl, even if she does drive me and Helen mad with all that jumping and twirling when we're trying to read the papers.

You know, Milford, I know I haven't been much of a man, what with one thing and another. Lazytown was fine when I took over, then it all went wrong, I don't know why. You're bringing up our daughter for us, and doing a much better job of it than we could. I don't think there are too many people who will miss me when I'm gone.

I think what I'm saying is; thank you for picking up after me.

Okay, if you're reading this - one more thing I'd kind of like you to pick up for me. _We've never told Stephanie about who she is _- who her family is, I mean. Could you keep it that way, please? Let her have a life instead of an inheritance. I don't think it did me much good. You're doing a good job of running things: any chance you could carry on minding the store on her behalf?

Thanks old boy. See you again some time.

Stephen"

"So your father was the Mayor before Mayor Meanswell?" said Trixie. "Talk about nepotism…"

"Come and have a look at this," said Stingy, abruptly. "It's fascinating."

"It's _accounts_," protested Trixie.

"No, seriously. Come and look."

Reluctantly, they crowded around the desk.

"Look," he said. "The books go back for nearly a hundred years, it's incredible. The whole town is basically run as a charitable foundation, with all profits going back into the improvement of the town. It was doing really well for a long time - great rental income, low overheads, plenty of money for infrastructure projects, people moving here and staying here for years and years…then, here, about twenty years ago - " he turned to a page covered in red ink - "it suddenly all started to go wrong."

"Twenty years ago," repeated Stephanie.

"Yes. Look. Rents drop through the floor, massive maintenance bills. The reports are full of awful news - _Pipeline disaster_. _Bus crash_. _Subsidence under the castle_. _Fire in the park. Hospital generator problems. Flooding. Road collapse. Rail collapse. Car crash. Plane crash…_It goes on and on and on, for years - nothing but losses and heartbreak and bad luck."

The jigsaw was coming together, the pieces dropping into place. _My father was the Mayor. My father banished Number Nine. Then Lazytown started to fall apart, so he ran away, and Uncle Milford took over for him. But however hard he worked, he couldn't bring it back to life, because this town has a soul, and my father destroyed it when he sent Number Nine away…_

"And then, ten years ago, it all stops. The town starts to get back on its feet again. New families moving in. Suddenly people are building things, opening new businesses, the school has to expand. Then, _two_ years ago, it suddenly all goes ballistic…"

_Ten years and two years. Ten years ago, Sportacus came to Lazytown. Two years ago, my parents died, and - what did Robbie say? The curse faded away…_

"My God," said Trixie. "These are odd." She held out another folder full of letters, all written in a strange, old-fashioned hand on thick cream paper:

"Dear Mayor Meanswell,

We thank you for your letters - all of them - and appreciate your keen interest in meeting.

However, frankly, the contract was cancelled by Mayor Milford, and you are not empowered to renew it. Sorry, but there it is.

By the way, how did you know how to contact us?"

The signature was indecipherable.

A year later:

"Dear Mayor Meanswell,

Really, I must insist. This correspondence is taking up a great deal of time and effort on both sides.

You are a good man, Mayor Meanswell, but I cannot help you."

"Dear Milford,

Have we really been corresponding for five years now? I share your sadness that we have done nothing but review the same points over and over; however, there really is nothing I can do."

A few years after that:

"Milford,

No, no, no, no, no. Be told. Please."

"Dear Milford,

Thank you for the photographs. I agree that she is a dear little thing.

I, too, wish there was a way to resolve this. It was a wonderful partnership which brought nothing but joy to both our peoples.

But please understand that _all_ conditions must be fulfilled, and I _cannot_ disclose what these conditions are. Our people are not the same as yours, Milford. Our laws are not the same. For you, they are guidelines laid down by other men which can be bent and twisted as you please. For us, they are unbreakable natural phenomena which we cannot escape.

Sorry again. I have been saying it for so many years that I wonder if I would be disappointed if the time finally came for me to stop."

"Oh Milford,

Bless you. You are a very dear man, and I am looking forward to meeting you. How did you do it? Is it usual among your people for a little girl to live with adults who are not her parents?

Please find meeting instructions enclosed."

MEETING INSTRUCTIONS

Wait _alone_ at the top of the Waterfall. _Under no circumstances_ must anyone accompany you.

Someone will meet you at midnight with transport to guide you through the gateway.

Under _no circumstances_ should you attempt to cross the gateway alone.

CONTRACT OF EMPLOYMENT

This confirms that _NUMBER 10 (Sportacus)_ is hereby appointed as _TOWN HERO_ for the geographical area known as "Lazytown".

Term of employment: lifetime contract

Signed: _Mayor Milford Meanswell (trustee)_

_Number 10 (Sportacus)_

And a note on the bottom, in familiar, large, flamboyant writing: "I'm happy to sign this, but why do you need it?! What does it prove?! S."

Stingy was now leafing through a thick wedge of legal documents entitled "Articles of Association." Trixie and Ziggy were bored and bickering.

"Will you _shut up_ about teeth for just one minute, please!"

"I'm sorry, I just think they're really interesting…did you know that you don't get your wisdom teeth until you're at least seventeen? Sometimes much later?"

"Did you know that I couldn't possibly care less?"

"And a lot of us don't actually have enough room in our jaws for our wisdom teeth - "

"Yeah. Just like I don't have enough room in my _head _for any more information about wisdom teeth -"

"I _said_," said Stingy loudly and clearly, "that Stephanie is the heir to Lazytown."

Everyone stopped talking and stared at Stingy. Then they all turned and looked half-accusingly at Stephanie.

"Blimey," said Ziggy at last. "You'd better marry her quick, Stingy."

"Tempting, of course," said Stingy, smiling, "but not the best decision financially, since it's a non-profit-making organisation. Okay, so the company was founded by an immigrant called Liefur Johansson."

Trixie sighed impatiently over the Voicemaster.

"Don't breathe down my ear like that, Trix, it's disturbing. Important thing to note - he came here from Iceland."

In the silence, they heard the clock striking midnight.

"Get to the part where Stephanie owns Lazytown," said Trixie.

"Okay. He sets up this charitable foundation, sort of. The purpose is to provide a nice, safe, clean-living place to bring up your children, fresh air and exercise, that sort of thing. But the difference is…well, okay, this sounds insane, but I'm going to say it - it's a sort of - a sort of partnership. With, er…"

"With the _Haldufolk_," said Stephanie. Stingy looked at her in surprise.

"Yes. Who I think are…well, not exactly human. _Special grace and protection_ is the phrase they use in the articles of association, _for as long as the Lazytown project endures_. Anyway. Straight line of inheritance. Leifur passes his inheritance to his daughter Sarah. Sarah marries Jacob Milford, has a son Andrew. Andrew passes it on to his son Stephen. And Stephen's inheritance passes to…Stephanie. Your Uncle Milford is the company manager - they call it the Mayor, but in practice he's an unelected company official - and your trustee for as long as you remained a minor. But that's not the important part -"

"Clearly not," said Trixie ironically.

"You see, the thing is, as Leifur's great-great-grand-daughter…" he hesitated. "I think you're the one person who the _Haldufolk _will take any notice of. Mayor Meanswell couldn't even get their attention until you were born. He only managed to persuade them to send Sportacus when you came to live with him. If you want Sportacus back…you're over eighteen, so you can act on behalf of the company. And I think…well, to be honest, Stephanie, I think you're the only one they'll listen to."

Feeling as if she was watching herself from very far away, Stephanie opened the top drawer of her Uncle's desk. She reached into the very back, and felt her fingers close around the crystal Bessie had taken from Sportacus, two weeks and a million years ago.

"What are you going to do now?" asked Ziggy, leaping up.

"No, don't _move_ - " Pixel screamed.

The Lockmaster 6000 fell to the floor. The noise was unbearable, skull-shattering; they fled the Town Hall at top speed, Ziggy yelling, "sorry, sorry, sorry," over the Voicemaster.

"Go on," said Stingy urgently. "The Mayor will be here soon, that racket's enough to wake the dead. I'll stay here and explain. Stephanie - " he hesitated, then hugged her. "Good luck."

They fled around the corner just as Mayor Meanswell appeared, bemused.

"Hello, Mayor Meanswell," said Stingy suavely. "I'm so terribly sorry. I remembered that I'd left some folders of mine in your office while I was working for you over the summer, and I thought I'd come and collect them, and I accidentally set off that stupid lock…"

"What are you going to do?" Pixel asked curiously as they hid around the corner and waited for their hearts to stop pounding.

She lifted her chin.

"I'm going to find him."

"Oh, nononnono," said Trixie firmly. "I didn't like the sound of that whole waterfall thing. Pinkie, this is such a bad idea. Don't do it. No-one expects you to."

Remembering the look on Robbie's face

(no-one ever gets past the waterfall)

Stephanie knew she was as scared as she had ever been in her life. But beneath the fear was a bedrock of certainty.

"He spent years doing the impossible to keep Lazytown safe," she said, hoping her voice would not quiver. "Now it's my turn."

Pixel nodded thoughtfully.

"Well, in that case you might want to take this." He held out an envelope. "Stingy told me to give it to you. It's the money from the first sale from Six Thousand Ideas. He said to warn you to be careful with it, because it's - "

"I know…it's his," sighed Stephanie. "Pixel, really, I can't take this, it's too much…"

"No, he said because it's only just enough to get you to Reykjavik," said Pixel softly. "Take it, please. You're going to need it."

When the Meanswells woke up the next morning, they found the table laid for breakfast, with a bunch of sunflowers in a jug on the table. Propped against the jug was a note.

Dearest Uncle Milford, dearest Auntie Bessie,

Firstly, I want to say sorry. I truly do need to apologise for putting you both through so much worry these last two weeks.

Secondly, I want to say thank you. Thank you for trying to protect me. I understand now what you were trying to save me from.

But I have to tell you that I'm going to find Sportacus, and, if I can - if he'll come with me - I'm going to bring him back.

Uncle Milford, I know my father asked you to make sure that I wasn't tied down to Lazytown, and that being with Sportacus would mean exactly that. Auntie Bessie - forgive me - I know what happened between you and Robbie and Number Nine, and how afraid you were that it might happen to me too. And Sportacus - well, he did everything he could to keep me safe, to leave me free to choose, because he just didn't believe I'd choose him.

But the fact is that you've got it all wrong. Sportacus is the soul of this town, and when you sent him away, you sent my heart away with him. Lazytown can't survive without its hero, and I'm not sure I can survive either.

All three of you have worked so hard to protect me, but you've all been working against each other. Now it's my time to try and put it right.

I love you, I will write to you along the way, and I will see you soon.

Stephanie.


	9. Chapter Eight Flight

**Chapter Eight - flight**

In the guise of reaching down between them to find her seat-belt, Jane Emmerson, known to generations of girls as "Miss Emmerson" to her face and "Plain Jane Superbrain" behind her back, looked curiously at the girl in the seat next to her. She had noticed her while waiting in in the check-in queue, that distinctive hair drawing the eye like a bright flag flying; but something in the girl's grave, quiet face made her continue to watch her, catching glimpses of her as they moved through the tortuous processes of check-in and boarding. She watched her buy a postcard with a sunflower on it, then spend twenty minutes nibbling the end of her pen as she decided what to say. Later, she saw her sitting quietly on her bag, engrossed in a battered Lonely Planet guide to Iceland, and guessed that they were going to the same destination. And now here she was again in the seat next to her, still clutching the Lonely Planet guide to her chest.

After thirty years of teaching adolescent girls, Miss Emmerson specialised in spotting types, but this one was hard to place. The scruffy rucksack crammed with belongings said _student seeing the world on a budget_, but student travellers generally ranked package tours below even cruise-ship holidays in their scale of lameness, and anyway Iceland was hardly on the student tourist trail. That unmistakeable and carefully-trained posture said _hard-core ballerina_, but the sharp, angular hair-cut said _native New Yorker_, too cool to do anything well in case people thought she was taking it seriously. On the other hand, its optimistic pink colour said _festival girl_, who would spend her free time sitting in fields braiding daisies through her hair and getting stoned. Miss Emmerson watched to see how much of the contents of the free drinks trolley she would manage to scavenge from the stewardess, and was surprised when the girl refused, politely asking for a glass of orange juice instead.

The girl saw Miss Emmerson watching her, and smiled shyly.

"I've never flown before," she said. "It's going to be a long flight, isn't it?"

Miss Emmerson smiled back. "Well, yes it will, but an amazing destination at the end of it. I've always wanted to go. Is this is really your first time on a plane?"

"Sort of…my Uncle has a pilot's licence and he's taken me up in his plane a few times, but I've never been in one like this before. It's so huge, I hadn't realised…"

_Pampered little rich girl?_ In her job at one of the most exclusive girl's schools in New York State, Miss Emmerson had seen her fair share of them, but this one didn't quite fit the type. She was too well-mannered, for one thing, and lacked the discontented, sulky pout that so many of them seemed born with. This girl seemed…sweet. Something that rich girls generally didn't manage to pull off.

"That's quite unusual for someone of your generation," she said kindly. "Most of the girls I taught fly off almost every weekend somewhere or other…ski-ing in the winter, down to their parents' place in Cape Cod in the summer…" she waited a minute to see if the girl would respond to this. "I'm Miss Emmerson, by the way. That is, I'm Jane Emmerson, but I've been teaching so long that I find it hard to remember I actually have a first name."

"It's very nice to meet you, Miss Emmerson," the girl said politely, holding out her hand. "I'm Stephanie. Stephanie Milford." And that was another clue she couldn't quite place: the girl had quite naturally referred to her as _Miss Emmerson_, rather than _Jane_. She sipped her glass of wine thoughtfully, and watched Stephanie over the brim.

"Aren't you old enough to drink? Or do you just not like it?" she asked Stephanie suddenly. "Forgive me, my dear, I'm so used to questioning girls about every aspect of their lives, I find it hard to switch off while I'm on holiday."

"Oh, that's all right," said Stephanie, laughing. "I don't mind, My Aunt Bessie asks more questions than anyone I know. I'm eighteen, and there isn't any alcohol where I come from. My Uncle's the mayor, and he doesn't let anyone sell it in the town."

_Bible Belt rebel? _But usually, if they broke away and cut loose, they were the worst of the lot; drinking, smoking, spitting, swearing, taking drugs and sleeping with every man in sight. _Could just let it go, Jane, you're on holiday, her life is not your problem…_but she knew she was going to carry on.

"Well," she said, smiling the warm, motherly smile that had been inviting the confidences of teenage girls for thirty years. "We're going to be next to each other for the next eleven hours or so, I believe, so now we've made friends, why don't you tell me why you're going to Iceland? It's an unusual choice for someone your age, they're normally all wild for Southern Europe. Are you taking a year out before college?"

"I - not exactly," said Stephanie hesitantly, looking down. "I was going to the Conservatoire in Metropolis to study dance, but then I - I had to put it off, until at least next semester. Maybe for ever, I'm not sure. It depends."

_Aha_, thought Miss Emmerson.

"So are you going just for a holiday?" she asked, already knowing the answer.

"No. I'm going out there to meet…someone."

Miss Emmerson nodded to herself. She was familiar with these _someone_s, who flitted in and out of the lives of besotted teenage girls. They were dark or fair or mousey or dreadlocked or crew-cut, outgoing and loveable, or sweet-voiced and charming, or awkward and shy (but with hidden depths the girls just couldn't wait to plumb). They were Italian or Spanish or Jamaican or Irish or Cuban or Asian or WASPy or Valley Boy, and they came from anywhere and everywhere, but never from _around here_. They charmed their way into the hearts and the beds of the prettiest girls in town, made them light up like Roman candles for a week or a month or a summer, and then they disappeared, leaving behind them beautiful, regretful words that blew away like leaves. _I'll never forget our time together_ was a favourite, along with _I wish it could have been different_ or _At least we'll have one perfect memory_ or _If only life hadn't got in the way_. It was the first time she had come across one from Iceland, but she supposed beautiful bad boys were to be found the world over. When she was younger she had passionately wished to be as delicate and lovely as the young girl sitting next to her. As she had advanced into a comfortable and satisfying middle age, beauty had begun to seem more like a handicap, guaranteeing a youth filled with the worst sort of men, and a lonely afterlife when your looks finally faded.

"And is he expecting you to visit him?" she asked archly.

"Oh, no," said Stephanie firmly. "But if I can just find him - I know it will work out somehow - " she stopped, and blushed. "I'm so sorry, Miss Emmerson, I don't mean to be boring. I've just been travelling by myself a lot, it's been quite a while since I had a proper conversation with anyone…"

"How long have you been travelling?" _Scratch the native New Yorker._

"About a month, I think…it took longer than it should have done because I had to get my passport first, and I don't drive so I hitched quite a lot of the time. I didn't want to get here and then not be able to afford the air-fare."

"A month hitching? Good Lord, I hope your family know you're all right. Surely they must be absolutely frantic about this?"

"I've been sending them postcards every chance I got…Miss Emmerson, I'd love to hear about you too. Why are you going to Iceland?"

_In way over her head_, thought Miss Emmerson sadly to herself. She had heard this tale, with minor variations, at least two or three times a year for as long as she had been teaching, although she usually managed to head them off before they actually set off for the airport. In her experience, the only thing to do was encourage them to talk about it, offer tissues and sympathy, and wait for the light to finally dawn.

"I'm going to Iceland because I've never been there before and I want to have an adventure," she said. "I'm a very recently-retired teacher, in fact I was the house mistress of a boarding school in New York State, where I've taught for the last thirty years. So I'm quite used to teenage girls pouring out their hearts to me, it comes with the territory. And I think they usually find that it feels good to talk about it." She hesitated. "This _is _about someone very special to you, isn't it? I thought so. Why don't you tell me how you two met?"

"Oh, we've been friends since I was eight years old," Stephanie replied, surprising Miss Emmerson once more. "I always hoped he'd notice me, but I never thought it would happen..."

"Sometimes when you grow up with someone you don't always see them in a romantic light," offered Miss Emmerson, from a store of rather theoretical knowledge.

"Well, we didn't _grow up_ together exactly. He was already grown up when I came to the town. But he always helped to take care of all of us when we were kids. I always worried that when you can remember teaching someone how to play baseball when they were nine, you don't automatically notice them in that way, but then, in the end…"

"You mean he was your _teacher_?" Miss Emmerson was shocked to the core.

"Oh, no," said Stephanie, smiling. "Although he did teach us, all sorts of things, all the time. He was...the town Hero."

"So he was…what, a policeman or a fireman or something?"

"No, no, nothing like that. Although he did a lot of the things that they do, too. He…looked after us all. Played sports with us when we were bored, helped us build treehouses, helped us fix up the playground. Rescued us when we got into trouble. Kept us from getting hurt. He looked after everyone, not just the children. He saved my Uncle once when he fell through the ice on the pond where he was fishing, he saved my Aunt Bessie when she fell out of a tree..."

"Good Lord," said Miss Emmerson. "He sounds like quite a…hero."

"He was," said Stephanie sadly. "He is. Being with him was the most wonderful thing that's ever happened to me. But my uncle and aunt didn't like us being together…so my uncle sent him away."

Miss Emmerson tried to put all these pieces of information together.

"Er - how old is he exactly?" she asked delicately.

"I don't really know. Older than me, he was a grown man when we first met. It never really seemed to matter. Not to us, anyway."

"But maybe that was what your Aunt and Uncle were worried about?"

"Not just that…they didn't want me to be tied down to our town, you see. He had a contract that meant he had to stay there."

"You know, I'm really not sure that's legal," said Miss Emmerson gently.

"Would you like to wash your hands before lunch?" the stewardess appeared at their side, offering warm towels and trays of food. Stephanie pushed the food around with her fork, but ate the apple, and by the time the stewardess came to clear the trays, she had fallen asleep with her head resting against her back-pack, looking like a tired child. The Lonely Planet guide slipped out of her hands and fell to the floor.

Miss Emmerson picked it up to put it back in her lap. It was extremely well-thumbed, battered really, with bus tickets and scribbled notes tucked into it at intervals, and the pages fell open naturally at the entry on Gullfoss Waterfall. It was one of the highlights of the five-day tour they were both booked on. Marking the page was a photograph. Hesitating, she looked back at the girl, but she was completely lost in exhaustion, and Miss Emmerson couldn't resist a glance at this latest rogue to make her gallery of unsuitable bad boys.

She was expecting the usual shot of a couple laughing up at the camera, and was surprised to find that both the people in the picture were deeply asleep. There was no mistaking Stephanie's vivid pink hair, although in the photograph it was much, much longer than it was now: she wondered what had prompted her to cut it. The man - he was clearly a grown man, not the pretty boy she had been visualising - held her protectively close to him even as they slept. After a lifetime of watching silly, lovely girls throw themselves away on worthless young men with nothing to recommend them other than a heartbreaking smile, Miss Emmerson had acquired a deep cynicism about the value of beauty. Nonetheless, she found herself deeply moved by the photograph.

But who had taken it? And what was their reason for doing so?

Miss Emmerson looked at Stephanie for a long, thoughtful time, then sighed and took out her copy of _The Great Gatsby_.

They lost each other for a while in the chaos of the airport and the luggage reclaim, then met again in the lobby of the hotel, and smiled tiredly across the hordes of jet-lagged, hung-over tourists, every one of them cranky and cross and desperate to get into their rooms so they could take a shower. Miss Emmerson noticed again the instinctive good manners with which Stephanie waited towards the back of the group, waiting until the hubbub had died down. She seemed so sweet, and so vulnerable; what were her family doing, letting her trek across the Atlantic on her own like this?

"Stephanie," said Miss Emmerson, then hesitated. Stephanie smiled at her encouragingly. "Don't worry, I've got no intention of pursuing you for the rest of the holiday. After this I promise I'll leave you strictly alone to get on and do your own thing. But I just wanted to say - "

"It's all right," said Stephanie, laying a hand on Miss Emmerson's arm. "I think I know what you're going to say. You're going to warn me that I'm investing too much time and risking an awful lot for someone who went halfway around the world to get away from me. Aren't you?"

"Something like that," said Miss Emmerson dryly.

"I understand why you think that," said Stephanie gently. "but the thing is - the thing is - you've only met me, you see. You've only met a very ordinary girl like millions of other very ordinary girls, doing what girls do when the man they think is the love of their life leaves town unexpectedly. You haven't met - him. And he is anything but ordinary."

"I'm sure he seems that way to you, Stephanie," said Miss Emmerson. "We all feel that way when we fall in love, especially when it's for the first time. But -"

"Miss Emmerson, he's looked after me and kept me safe since the day he first met me, and never asked anything in return. He knows me better than I know myself. In all the time I've known him, he has never asked for anything from anybody, never told a lie, never done anything mean or selfish or cruel, never lost his temper or hurt anyone. One of the last things he told me was not to hate my aunt and uncle for sending him away. He has loved me just as I am, for as long as we've known each other, and there will never, never be anyone who can take his place. And now - now he needs me to help him come home."

Surprising herself, Miss Emmerson put her hand on Stephanie's cheek and kissed her.

"Then I wish you good luck in your search, my dear," she said sincerely.

Stephanie took a shower, revelling in the feel of hot water against her skin, then went back down to the lobby again. She was tired beyond words, but she didn't dare to stop, even for a second, in case she lost her nerve. She was nearly at the end of the journey, but the moment she had been dreading since the moment she left Lazytown was still to come. The concierge smiled at her as she approached his desk.

"Good evening, young lady," he said to her. "And what can I do for you? Perhaps a taxi to take you into town? There are some very fine bars I can recommend to you…"

"No, thank you," she said. "I need your help to arrange a tour…I want to go to the Gullfoss Waterfall."

He rummaged in his stack of leaflets.

"A good choice," he said warmly. "Definitely one of the finest sights in our wonderful country. But, I'm sorry, don't you get a tour anyway as part of your stay? I'm sure I remember making a group booking…"

"I'd like to go there on my own," she said. "And…at night."

He studied her very carefully for a minute.

"And why would you want to do that?" he asked her at last. "It's one of the most magnificent sights you will ever see in your life. The roads are dangerous, it would be very expensive to find someone to take you there. Really, I don't think it will be possible. Wait till daylight, my dear. Much better to see it then."

"I really need to go there at night," she repeated firmly.

"She's determined…so, I must repeat…why would you want to do that?" He shook his head indulgently.

"I have to meet someone there," she said at last. He nodded and she saw the twinkle in his eye.

"He's a lucky man I'm sure, but really, not the most civilised place to choose. I don't think this is going to be possible, my dear. Did you have a time in mind for this…romantic meeting?" he asked her, still smiling that amused, indulgent smile.

"Yes," she said. "Midnight."

His face changed. Looking at her narrowly, he said something sharp and rapid in his own language, his eyebrows raised interrogatively.

"I'm sorry," she said desperately, "I don't speak any of your language at all. But…I really need to be there. I can pay, I promise. Please, can you help me?"

He was silent, drumming his fingers on the desk. She waited, her body filled with tension. She had staked the entire trip on this guess, on the receipt for the hotel she had found among her Uncle Milford's correspondence, on the map of Iceland in her guidebook that she thought she could draw from memory by now, on the fame of the Gullfoss waterfall.

"It will be expensive," he said at last.

"How much?"

He told her. It was all the money she had left, but that was all right; she wasn't planning on coming back.

"That's fine," she said.

"And when do you want to go?" he asked her at last, the phone in his hand.

"Tonight," she told him, taking a deep breath.

She stood alone and shivering on the edge of the waterfall, one hand clutching something in her pocket, listening to the roar of the water. A cold wind was blowing, carrying a mist of icy spray that chilled her face and settled on the hood of her coat. The waterfall itself was simply beyond comprehension, fierce and terrifying, millions of litres of water pouring and churning over vast falls of shining black rock, crashing into the basin below.

_Robbie_, she thought to herself, _did you stand here, where I__'__m standing now? Were you as scared as I am now? And how did it feel to walk away again?_

She looked at her watch, and saw that the minute hand was finally inching around towards midnight. Trembling, she leaned against the railing. This was the final test of her courage, the moment when she had to follow through on the brave words she had spoken to her friends back in Lazytown. She stared down into the foaming waters below her, wondering if she was insane, how this could possibly be the right thing to do…

Then, so faint she could almost tell herself she was imagining it, she saw a light, deep down in the heart of the waterfall. At the same time, she felt the crystal she was clutching desperately in her hand give a faint tremor, a vibration that she felt right in her heart, pulling her towards the edge of the falls.

She climbed over the railing and walked towards the edge.

"My name is Stephanie Anne Milford," she whispered to the night sky. "I am the great-great-grand-daughter of Liefur Johansson. And I am going to do this."

There was no answer, but then she had not expected any. She spread her arms wide.

"Here I come," she said, and dived off the edge and into the rushing, roaring, falling water.


	10. Chapter Nine Rhapsody in Blue

**Chapter Nine - Rhapsody in Blue**

The noise was terrible, deafening, and she felt the water pounding at her like terrible hammers, forcing her eagerly downwards towards the rocks._ I'm going to die_, she thought to herself, _I__'__m going to land on those rocks in about three seconds and then I__'__ll either come apart with the impact or the water will smash me into a pulp__…__this is it__…_

…then she felt an extraordinary sensation, as if she had been caught and wrapped up in a tight cocoon. The cocoon held and turned and directed her, channelling her head-first towards a patch of light that was waiting for her. She lay, helpless and squeezed, hardly able to breathe, as the force that had her propelled her onwards, onwards, harder and harder. She closed her eyes, wanting to scream but not having the breath do so…

…and then finally she was lying on a warm white floor, soaking wet and gasping for breath, with soft light all around her. Two people, a man and a woman, were kneeling next to her, looking at her with amusement and amazement.

They spoke rapidly in their own language over her head, and she saw them point at her ears with a gesture of surprise. Then they looked at her.

"_Islensku?_" they asked her rapidly. "_Norsk? Dansk? Svenska_? English?"

"Yes, oh, thank you, yes - English," she said gratefully, trying to get her breath back.

"What are you doing here, little girl? Surely you were warned not to try and cross the gateway without proper transport? And why weren't we told to expect you?" The woman stroked her hair curiously. "Forgive me for asking - is this a usual colour for your people?"

"No, I suppose not, not really, it's just always been that way…I knew you weren't expecting me, and I didn't know how to get in touch, so I just had to try - "

"You were lucky not to be killed," the man told her gravely. "Very lucky. The gateway will not open for just anyone. You must have some connection with us, my dear." They were looking at her as if she was a mermaid, or a unicorn, or some other fabulous monster, suddenly washed up at their feet. She was cold and soaked, she felt bruised all over and completely exhausted, but she forced herself to stand up.

"We are the Port officials," said the woman. "Welcome, young human woman, even though we were not expecting you. May I ask why you are visiting?"

"I'm looking for someone," she said. "Someone…someone like you, not someone like me. I think he might have come through here about six weeks ago. In an air-ship…"

The man and woman looked at each other.

"I think you must be looking for Sportacus, my dear," said the woman.

"You mean he's really _here_?"

"Yes, he has come back to his own people once more…we are all very worried about him. His heart is broken, you see." She said this as if it were a medical condition, one which would be difficult or impossible to cure. "May we know who you are?"

"My name's Stephanie. Stephanie Milford."

Again the man and woman exchanged looks.

" Ahhh…then you are the young lady from Lazytown. Don't be too surprised, Stephanie; our contacts with the world of humans are rather limited, and we tend to know all those whose paths we cross by name. We have Stephanie," said the woman, "how is he, that very dear and persistent man? I understand he is married now?"

"Please," she said desperately, "I need to get in touch with Sportacus. I've come so far, I need to find him…"

"I'm not sure that will be possible," said the man doubtfully. "The circumstances are complicated. The severance of the contract - "

Stephanie opened her mouth to argue once more, but stopped. She could hear a familiar bleeping noise coming from the crystal still clutched in her hand. At the same time she felt a kind of tug around her heart, a compelling, insistent pull that she could no more ignore than a mother can ignore the sound of her baby when it cries.

"I have to go," she gasped. "He's in trouble…he needs me." And she took off at a dead run across the vast white space, following the urgent pulling sensation in her heart.

The man and woman watched her go.

"What should we do?" the man asked at last.

"I think…the best thing to do would be to let her go," said the woman slowly. "After all…" They looked at each other, and walked slowly back to their desks.

"We will have to report in the morning," the man reminded her.

"Indeed…but perhaps that will be long enough. After all…how many of us - from either of our peoples - are blessed enough to experience love like that?"

--

Wrapped in his sleeping-bag on the floor of his airship, he woke suddenly from dreams of falling from a high, terrible place into roaring water. He saw from the clock that it was a little after midnight, and knew from the experiences of many nights like it that he would not be able to sleep again. Instead, he dressed in warm, dark clothes and climbed down the ladder to the pebbled beach below.

The tide was at high water, and the sea was nearly still, looking like black ink under the stars. He spent almost all of his free time here, needing the solitude even as his heart was breaking with loneliness. They had all been more than kind, making a point of visiting him, trying to welcome him back into the daily life of their people. He had a class of children to teach in the mornings, and the sight of their eager faces as he showed them how to jump and stretch and run lifted his spirits briefly, because they were so full of life and happiness. When the classes were over, he would run along the beach for many hours and many miles, pushing his body beyond the brink of exhaustion until his breath came in shudders and dry heaves, trying to weary himself so utterly that he would sleep without dreaming.

The sound of the waves crashing on the shore had soothed him to sleep when he was a child. It was the thing he had missed the most when he had first gone to Lazytown; and even now, lost and drowning in sorrow, the sound was the only companion he could bear during the long empty hours. Without a trace of vanity, he knew that there were many women who would have been glad to join him for the night or for a handful of nights, to try and take away the pain in his heart and make him laugh again. But he had spoken only the truth to Stephanie that day when they had parted: there would never be anyone else for him.

She was always with him, in his heart and in his thoughts. He wondered constantly what she was doing, who she was with, trying not to feel jealous when he wondered if there was someone else in her life now, someone else holding and kissing her and touching her as he had touched her. The memory of their brief time as lovers was the only sweetness that remained in his life, and he struggled to hold on to it, to remember only the joy, not to dwell on the heartbreak that came after. "Yes, thank you, fine," he said, trying to smile, to everyone who asked him; and inside he died a little each day.

He heard the crunch of pebbles behind him and turned around.

His first thought was that she looked like her own ghost, frail and shivering, her face deathly pale and smudged with fatigue. Her hair was cut short and elfin around her face, and it was this that gave him hope that he was not dreaming, for in his dreams she looked exactly the same as when he had last seen her. They stared at each other.

"Are you real?" he whispered at last, not daring to move.

"I had to find you," she whispered at last. "I'm sorry it took me so long…"

In two swift strides he was with her, and he tried to take her in his arms, but she evaded his touch, and he dropped his arms to his sides.

"I had to tell you something," she said softly. "Sportacus, I found out who I am. I'm the great-great-grand-daughter of Liefur Johannson, and I'm the heir to Lazytown. I have the power to renew your contract, if you'll only accept."

"You're the - the heir to Lazytown?" She could see the amazement in his face. "You're absolutely sure you can do this?"

"Yes, I'm absolutely sure…" she was cold and shivering now, trying to hide it so she could finish what she had to say. "Sportacus, Lazytown can't survive without its hero. We all need you. As the only person who can ask you, I'm standing here begging you…please, please, will you come back to us?" She held out the crystal she had been clutching in her hand throughout her long, hard run through endless softly-lit corridors, and across sudden wide cobbled courtyards that were open to the strange skies above.

He took it from her, and she felt a touch of electricity as his warm fingers brushed against hers.

"I - "

"Please, don't answer yet…there's something else I have to say." She could feel her legs trembling with exhaustion, and this time he would not be denied; he put his arms gently around her, holding her as if he was afraid she would break. She looked up into his face, into those beautiful, warm blue eyes that had melted her heart the first time she saw them.

"Sportacus…I love you. I have loved you since I first met you when I was eight years old. I love you…what was it you said to me that night?…I love you in every way a woman can love a man. I will follow you anywhere, I will go with you to wherever you want to be. If you won't come back to Lazytown, I'll leave it behind, all of it, and stay here with you, if you'll have me. But I can't live without you, Sportacus. You have my heart, and it's yours until I die." There were tears running down her face now and she couldn't see his expression any more.

"Stephanie," he whispered softly. "My darling girl, my little love…you shouldn't have done this, it was too dangerous, you could have been killed, I'm not worth the risk…"

"And is that your answer?" She couldn't control the sob that burst from her.

He put the crystal carefully in his pocket, then took both of her hands between his.

"No, of course that isn't my answer.. .oh, Stephanie, sweetheart…Stephanie Anne Milford, will you please marry me?" And, as her knees finally gave way, he caught her and held her tightly against him as if he would never let her go.

--

For long minutes they stood still on the beach, their arms wrapped tightly around each other, re-learning how it felt to be together. Stephanie felt as if she had been terribly cold for longer than she could remember, and was now standing in the warmth once more. She knew that she was happy again, that she was finally where she had longed to be, for long days and nights that had stretched into endless weeks. But just now the pain of feeling the frost in her heart melt away again was overwhelming. She could hardly remember who she was or how she had got here…she thought that if he kissed her now, she would simply fall apart right there in his arms, but he seemed to know what she needed better than she did. He stood stock still, warm and firm and real and reassuring, and let her lean shivering against him, holding her close and steady while she found her moorings in time and space once more.

"How did you get here?" he asked her at last, still holding her tightly against him. "How did you find it? How did you get through the gateway? How did you know how to contact the Port officials?"

"I didn't," she confessed wearily. "I had to guess from what I could find in Uncle Milford's files…I just - hoped I had the right place, and the right time, and then - I dived down the waterfall…"

She felt the shiver of horror go through right through his body, and then he was kissing her in a frenzy, covering her face with warm, dry, tender kisses, holding her tightly around her waist, almost bruising her. She closed her eyes and surrendered to the overwhelming feeling of being in his arms again, of feeling his hands on her, his mouth on her mouth, of hearing his voice murmuring her name against her ear.

"Stephanie, you're soaked," he said at last. "Come with me, let me warm you up, you have to let me take care of you."

Shades of the first, last and only night they had spent together; she had been soaked to the skin then, too, and he had dried her long hair with a towel and then undressed her slowly and lovingly, unwrapping her like a present, and spent long minutes driving her to the peak of ecstasy with his mouth and fingers. The memory of the unbelievable pleasure he had given her that first time suddenly filled her entire body with a sweet, aching need. That time he had been gentle, tender and slow, loving every inch of her skin until she felt she was going to melt away. This time, she wasn't sure she could wait. She needed him right now, this instant, to prove to herself and to the universe that they were united again.

"I think," she said softly, "I think I need you to - take care of me - right away - " and she saw his eyes turn dark and yearning, and knew he felt the same need, to reclaim her for his own, now, this instant.

She put her face up to his and kissed him hungrily, wrapping her fingers in his hair. Fumbling with the buttons, he unfastened her coat and let it fall from her shoulders, and she felt the cold chill on her skin as the wind blew over the layers of wet clothes beneath; but inside she was on fire, desperate to feel his hands on her skin. She slipped her hands beneath the soft dark fabric of his sweatshirt, and heard him murmur at the thrill of her touch. Longing to be closer to him, she pressed herself against him and felt the heat of his arousal through their clothes.

"We can't stay here," he muttered, not taking his mouth off hers. "It's too cold, you'll freeze - we need to get inside - "

Twenty paces to the foot of the rope-ladder that led up to the ship, and they were hardly able to stop kissing and stroking and caressing and gently squeezing for long enough to stagger dazedly over to it. By the time they reached the foot of the ladder she had got his sweatshirt off over his head, and he had peeled her clammy, wet t-shirt off and was frantically kissing her breasts and shoulders.

Fifteen rungs of the ladder to climb, and they weren't sure they could wait until they reached the top. _If anyone could make love to me on a rope ladder, this is the man_, she thought to herself, as they swayed perilously in mid-air, unable to take their hands off each other. It had never taken him so long to climb up before, even the night when she lay as limp as a rag in his arms, as he carried her to his home for the first time and tenderly wrapped her up warm.

Standing in the doorway of the airship now, breathing hard, clinging to each other. Without shame or shyness, she took his hand and slid it down below the waistband of her jeans, putting his fingers right on the spot, pressing herself against him, watching his face to see his response. Then she laid her hand over his groin, outlining the long, thick, lovely shape of him with her fingers, feeling the thrill deep inside her when he had to seize her hand and hold it still against him, fighting against the pleasure that threatened to overwhelm him.

Ten steps to the bed, but even that was too far: now they were kneeling on the floor, shredding off the last of their clothes. With the grace that had always touched her heart, he rolled her firmly on top of him, holding her against him, gentling her, caressing her, driving her wild with his kisses and with his fingers reaching into her most secret, sensitive places. Aching to feel him inside her, she wriggled her hand downwards and moved him blissfully against her.

"Sweetheart, please, wait," he whispered, laughing a little, trying to capture her hands, to hold her still. "Not yet, not so fast, let me - darling, please, that's just unbelievable, but you have to let me be good to you too - really, I mean it, if you keep doing that, this is all going to be over in a minute -"

"A minute's all I need," she whispered back, looking into his eyes. "Please don't make we wait any longer, I don't think I can stand it…"

And he swept her up in his arms and rolled her underneath him, and she cried out in ecstasy as he plunged deeply into her, and then she heard his long, low moan of pleasure, and they lay spent and completely exhausted in each other's arms, and she thought to herself, _I've finally come home_.

They lay for long minutes on the floor of the airship, slowly coming back down from the peak of bliss, waiting for their breathing to return to normal.

After a while they began to realise that they were lying on the platform of the airship with the night air streaming in, as cold and uncomfortable as it was possible to be. Stephanie's damp jeans were in a crumpled heap between them, with the belt and buckle digging into both of them; the floor was hard and unaccommodating, and the breeze was icy and unforgiving against their naked skin. They looked at each other and laughed, wanting to move, but not wanting to lose the closeness.

"Oh well," he said to her at last, his whole face alight with laughter. "I suppose we at least made it off the beach…"

--

Later, they climbed back down the ladder with blankets and cushions. Stephanie was dressed in his discarded sweatshirt, which slipped off her shoulders and came down to her knees. He built a fire on the beach from the bleached white driftwood; the tide had begun to go out again and the firelight flickered over the slick, wet pebbles near the shoreline. She leaned against him, cradled in his arms, and watched the fire crackle and spit.

As she leaned her head back and smiled at him, his arms went around her and he kissed the back of her neck for a slow, dreamy time, his hands caressing her long bare legs.

"You should wear my clothes more often," he whispered in her ear, as his fingers inched teasingly upwards.

"I might have to. I left my bag in a hotel in Reykjavik…" his fingers caressed the soft skin of her inner thigh. "Oh, that feels…absolutely lovely…"

He chuckled. "Believe me, it absolutely does..." She turned around in his arms and knelt so she was facing him, and her hands caressed the firm perfection of his chest and stomach, then moved slowly downwards. "Oh, sweetheart, so does that…and _that_ is just beautiful…come here, let me - " She leaned against his shoulder and quivered in ecstasy as with one hand he began to stroke her nipples, caressing them into tender pink peaks, while the other hand slid between her thighs and tickled her, gently, acutely, deliciously, until she could hardly move or breathe with delight. Helpless to resist, she hid her face against his shoulder and surrendered to his loving, insistent hands and the unbelievable pleasure they were giving her.

"But that's just not fair," she wailed afterwards. He held her by her shoulders, and looked into her face in amusement and disbelief.

"What's not fair? What on earth do you mean?"

"Every time I get close to you - every time I tell myself that _this _time I'm going to make you feel the way you make me feel - you start touching me instead, and I just melt away and all my good intentions disappear - don't smile at me like that, I mean it, I'm being _serious _- "

He was trying not to laugh, but he couldn't help himself.

"You," he said, kissing her ear lovingly, "are the sweetest, most adorable, most _ridiculous_ girl I have ever met. Apart from anything else, don't you _know_ how amazing it feels for me to be able to make you feel like that? Men _everywhere _feel that way. Trust me. This I cannot be wrong about."

"But I want to please you too, so much…you're so _good_, you just don't know - "

He had got over his amusement, and was looking at her seriously, his blue eyes looking straight into hers. "_This _is what you do to me, Stephanie," he said softly, and gently laid her hand flat against his chest so she could feel his heart racing. Then, even more gently, he took her hand in his again and guided it downwards. "_This_ is what you do to me…don't ever worry, sweetheart, promise me you won't…you have absolutely no idea how much you please me…now come here…" He lifted her onto his lap, and she wrapped her legs around him, his fingers still caressing her even as he moved inside her, until they both cried aloud to the stars in rapture.

Afterwards, they lay down again, wrapped in the blankets, and looked up at the black, starry sky.

"It's very beautiful here," Stephanie said at last, and he smiled.

"I thought maybe it would seem too barren to you, after Lazytown. Everything is just so _abundant _there, the grass is so thick, the sky is so blue, there's so much sunshine. When I first arrived there it was almost too much - too pretty - too easy. Here everything is a little more pared down. We're that much closer to the bones of the earth…I'm glad you think it's beautiful. I used to wonder if I'd ever have the chance to show it to you."

"Is this the beach where you used to live?"

He pointed to the cliffs at the edge of the beach.

"See over there? I was born in a house just about there, by that white rock. It was a beautiful place to grow up, right by the water, the sound of the waves filling the house all day long. When I was older we moved into the city, but we used to come down here as often as we could…to visit the ocean." He stroked her hair. "Stephanie, can I ask you something now? How on earth did you get here? Do you know what you did, how unbelievably rare it is for one of your kind to come here unaccompanied?"

She sighed.

"After you left…I - oh, this is embarrassing - I was so _angry _with everyone. I went to see Robbie, I don't know what I thought I was going to do, but I wanted to get back at him somehow, for what he did. So I went to see him. And he invited me in and then he told me - he told me everything…"

She could feel his amazement. "_Robbie_ knew how you could find me? But how - how could Robbie - ?"

So she told him the story Robbie had told her, the story of Robbie and Bessie and Number Nine, and how the town had so nearly perished in the terrible aftermath of love and misunderstanding. Afterwards, he was silent for a long time. She felt herself begin to drowse a little, her head resting against his shoulder.

"I didn't know any of that," he said at last. "They never told me. All I knew was that there had been someone before me and it hadn't worked out. They said that something had changed and there was a reason to try again. They wanted a volunteer, and it sounded like such an amazing thing to do…Poor Bessie. And poor, poor Robbie. It's a terrible thing to lose the love of your life."

"He told me he didn't love him," protested Stephanie. "He said it was just f - er - just fun."

"Mmm. That was what he said, of course…or some other word beginning with 'f', maybe?…and how often does Robbie tell the truth?" He stroked her hair. "No wonder he hated me so much."

"What do you mean?" She twisted round to look at him.

"How would you have felt if someone else had taken my place in Lazytown, and you had to watch him fall in love and be happy, when you hadn't been allowed to? It must have been so difficult for him, I wish I'd known all of this…"

"You're the only person I know who could look at Robbie and see someone who needs sympathy," she said, nestling closer to him.

"I'm sure he would have been a better man if the course of his life hadn't been so sad. And in the end, he did what he could to help you - to help us."

"Well, that's true…but on the other hand, he also got me drunk and made a pass at me," she said idly.

"He did _what_?"

"Oh, I don't think he was all that serious about it. He probably just wanted to see if he could make me blush."

He didn't say anything, just carried on holding her. It was his stillness that gave him away, the slight flinch in his fingertips, almost instantly controlled, as they rested on her skin. She cried out in distress and put her hand on his face.

"Oh, you can't possibly think - this is Robbie we're talking about! I think he only did it to try and embarrass me. There just isn't a _chance_, not ever, not with him, not with anyone - you _must_ know that there's only ever been you, there will only ever be you…"

"I'm sorry," he said softly, caught off guard.

"I don't _mind_, of course I don't. I just didn't think you could ever imagine that - that there would ever be anyone else - that I would even _look _at anyone else - "

He smiled at her and stroked her hair, but she could see the vulnerability in his eyes. "Well, it may be hard for you to believe, Stephanie, but I don't actually find myself all that compelling. If you really want to know, I find it…completely amazing…that you choose to be with me."

She looked at him in disbelief.

"Do you actually own a mirror? Have you even noticed how you make me feel? What it's like when you touch me?"

"Oh…" he made a dismissive gesture. "All of that - that's just genetics, and luck, and - and paying attention. I'm talking about the other things, the things that matter. About wanting to be with someone every day, about feeling happy just because they're there with you, about wanting to share every part of your life with them. All of this - the physical thing - I think you know that I've had that before…but without ever having any of the rest. And if that's all there is, just wanting to touch each other, it's nothing, it doesn't reach your heart, it fades away, it can't last… _for ever_ is a long time, Stephanie. For as long as I've known you, you've dreamed of being a wonderful dancer, of travelling the world. You know that I can't come with you. Not really, not for long. I have…responsibilities…a duty to Lazytown." He looked down at their clasped hands. "You're so young, sweetheart. I love you, but that doesn't give me the right to expect anything from you."

"And is that why you wouldn't let me tell you - "

"I didn't want you to be committed in a way you might have regretted later," he said simply. "It might have only been for that one night. If that was all you'd wanted from me…" he shrugged helplessly.

She wanted to choose her next words very carefully, to make absolutely sure there was no misunderstanding.

"If I could have everything," she said slowly, "then of course that's what I'd choose. Who wouldn't? I would travel all over the world, be a prima ballerina in Paris, in London, in New York, in Sydney, and still be able to have you with me. And we'd be able to come home to Lazytown whenever we wanted, and still teach the children on Saturday mornings, and see our friends, and have a family too, children of our own…if I could choose all of that, I would, I can't deny that. But - in the real world - no-one gets everything they want. So you have to choose the thing that matters most, and make sure you choose well. And I know, I _know_, that what matters most to me is you, just _you_. I meant what I said. I will follow you anywhere, be wherever you want to be. Because if I'm not with you…none of the rest of it is worth having." She paused. "So, I would really like to know…will you come back with me to Lazytown?"

"Didn't I tell you?" he asked her, genuinely bewildered.

"Actually, no. We…got distracted."

He smiled. "Surely you don't need to ask? _Of course _I will come back to Lazytown, Stephanie. I would be honoured to accept the contract." He paused. "And…there is also a question I would like your answer to. _Will_ you marry me?"

"Do _you _need to ask? Yes! Yes! Of course I'll marry you! There's nothing I'd like more. Yes, please, I want to be your wife. I do. More than anything."


	11. Chapter Ten And All The Bells

**Chapter Ten - And All The Bells Were Ringing**

And so, the next summer, on the longest day of the year, they were married.

When they got back to Lazytown, Stephanie went to the Conservatoire, rooming in a large, friendly house with three other dancers who all declared she was insane to be getting married so young, but who were very fond of her anyway. A volley of letters flew backwards and forwards between Metropolis and Lazytown, and they both counted the hours (Sportacus silently and without anyone noticing, Stephanie rather more dreamily and publicly) until the weekend came and they could be together again. Every Friday afternoon Stephanie caught the 5:55 train from Metropolis to Lazytown, ran straight to the fields outside the town where the airship was waiting, and climbed up the ladder. Trixie, watching this on her last Friday in town before she left for her six month trip to Japan, told Stephanie approvingly that, after a pathetically slow start, she (Stephanie) was clearly more than making up for lost time. Stephanie blushed, but didn't deny it.

Organising the wedding was a nightmare. First they had to convince the Meanswells that it _was _going to happen, it _was _a good thing, and there was nothing they could do to stop it. (A number of awkward conversations, with everyone stepping carefully around painful memories, and trying hard not to say anything they would regret afterwards.) Next, they had to deal with Bessie's sudden, enthusiastic _volte face_, and tactfully explain that it was not going to be a huge white church wedding in Smallville, but instead a quiet civil ceremony in a meadow outside Lazytown with just their close friends to witness it, and an open-to-all outdoor party for the whole town afterwards. (An even greater number of awkward conversations, which came to an abrupt end when Sportacus took Bessie to one side and kindly but firmly explained that, due to long-standing theological differences between the Christian church and the _Haldufolk _regarding the nature of God, there was currently no provision for him to marry within a consecrated building.) Planning the guest list was easy, as it consisted simply of "everyone", but the entire day nearly came to grief over the vexed question of Stephanie's wedding dress, about which Stephanie and Bessie had equally definite and totally opposing ideas. (Stephanie's vision; a simple empire-line dress with dainty spaghetti straps. Bessie's vision; a strapless, corseted confection of lace and pearl beads with a long train.) The Wedding Dress Wars, which continued over six weekends, finally came to an end when Sportacus asked Mayor Meanswell to intervene. "If Bessie doesn't give Stephanie some space," he explained apologetically, "I think she's going to insist that we just go to Smallville one afternoon and get married in front of Mayor Steadman. You know how determined she can be." And Mayor Meanswell, who now knew exactly how determined Stephanie could be, spoke to Bessie. No-one ever found out what was said, but the next day, the empire-line dress was ordered.

Trixie was Stephanie's bridesmaid, on the strict condition that she was allowed to choose her own outfit. She sent copious emails from Japan detailing her proposed choices, finally settling on a form-fitting cheong-sam in _rouge-noir _silk, matching elbow-length gloves and severe, schoolmarm-dominatrix high heels. After seeing the photograph Trixie emailed to Stephanie, Bessie had to go and lie down for an hour in a darkened room; but Stephanie merely smiled serenely and said she was perfectly happy for Trixie to wear anything, including nothing but her bra and knickers, as long as she was there on the day.

A couple of weeks before midsummer, Sportacus insisted on personally delivering Robbie's invitation.

"But he's only going to refuse," said Stephanie, as they lay dreamily in bed together early on Sunday morning.

"Oh, I know he is going to refuse, probably extremely rudely," said Sportacus, laughing, "but I'm going to ask him anyway. I need to thank him for what he did for us somehow. And there's really nothing I can think of that he'll enjoy more than the chance to shout at me."

So he took the invitation round later that day. Robbie gave him an incredulous look, then declared that he would rather spend the afternoon having his teeth pulled out without an anaesthetic, while being forced to watch paint dry and listen to Perry Como on an endless loop, than sit outside on a hot day and watch the most sickening wedding of the century; and anyway he was going to be out of town that weekend. After that, no-one saw him for some time. Then, two days before Midsummer, Reverend Rottenwell, dressed in billowing white and purple robes, arrived in town…

"Do you think it still counts if it's Robbie who marries us?" whispered Stephanie, as they stood side by side in front of Reverend Rottenwell, in the summer sunshine of Lazytown, surrounded by poppies and cornflowers. Stephanie held a bouquet picked from the meadow on her way down the aisle, while Trixie held a single deep crimson rose which drooped elegantly between her slim white fingers.

"I asked you, and you said yes," he whispered back. "Where I'm from, that makes us married. Anything else - all this - is just an excuse to have a big party." He looked Stephanie up and down. "And to see you looking completely beautiful in that wonderful frock, of course." He looked again, and smiled the smile that made her quiver inside. "How soon do you think we're allowed to leave afterwards?"

"Shhh!" commanded Reverend Rottenwell. "There will be _absolutely no talking_ in this ceremony. It's quite bad enough as it is without anyone prolonging it." He opened his book, and shrugged. "Okay, people, we all know why we're here: to watch the Elf marry his princess."

"You know, I'm actually not an Elf," said Sportacus, holding up a hand. Reverend Rottenwell waved him away dismissively.

"So you keep telling me. So, d'you want to talk me through those ears, then, hmmm? Are you going to tell me that you're a _Vulcan_, perhaps?"

"Robbie - "

"Reverend Rottenwell."

"Oh, all right, if you insist - Reverend Rottenwell, I am _not_ an Elf. I don't _mind _you calling me one, it's just that it's not actually correct - "

"Fine. Whatever you say, Sportacus. It's your wedding day, I'll let it go just this once. You'll find that I'm nice like that."

Sportacus laughed.

"But I _really am not_ - "

"Let's just get on with it, shall we? First - anyone got any objections? …No?…How about you, Mrs Meanswell? You happy about welcoming him into the family?"

"Don't push your luck," said Sportacus quietly. The Reverend saw the look on his face, and subsided.

"Oh, you're just no fun any more," he grumbled. "All right. No objections. Apart from the obvious one that it's just too cute and sickening for words, of course, but unfortunately I'm not allowed to mark you down for that. Okay. Here we go. Sportacus, do you take Barbie - "

"Stephanie."

"Whatever you say." He sighed theatrically and began again. "Sportacus, do you take Stephanie Anne Milford to be your lawful wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, for as long as you both shall live?"

"Oh, yes." His blue eyes were fixed on hers.

The Reverend looked him appraisingly up and down, mumbled something that might have been "doesn't know what he's missing out on", and turned a page in his book.

"Okay, Barbie, you're up. Stephanie Anne Milford, do you take Sportacus to be your lawful wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, for as long as you both shall live? Before you answer, please bear in mind you're almost _illegally _young for all of this, so it's going to be a damn long time, and you're going to be stuck with him because _his_ people don't have provision to divorce."

"Yes, I do," she said, looking straight into the eyes of the man she loved.

"Are you absolutely sure I can't change your mind? You do know that it's not actually legally binding until you've - "

"ROBBIE!" shouted Stephanie, Sportacus, Trixie and Stingy simultaneously.

"That's _Reverend Rottenwell_ to you," he replied with dignity. "All right, then, there's obviously no hope for either of you. That's it. You're married, God help us all. Who's got the rings?"

"That would be me," said Stingy, taking a small white leather box out of his waistcoat pocket. The Reverend held out his hand. Stingy looked at him for a moment, then winked at Trixie before smiling broadly and announcing, "I'm sorry, Reverend Rottenwell, but I can't let you have these, because they're…"

"MINE!" chorused the entire wedding party, laughing and applauding.

And with the exchange of rings, Stephanie and Sportacus, still laughing, put their arms around each other and kissed for the first time as man and wife, slowly and sweetly and deeply, and as unselfconsciously as if they were completely alone in the meadow. And despite Robbie making ostentatious gagging noises in the background, despite Stingy and Trixie begging them to "just put each other down for a minute, please, you've got _all night_ to do that", despite the whistles and catcalls from the row of small children who had gathered to watch, round-eyed, from over the fence, suddenly everyone had tears in their eyes, and no-one could speak for a minute, not even Ziggy. Then they broke apart, and smiled at each other, and the air was full of music, and Sportacus performed a series of handsprings and cartwheels around the field to make the children smile, and Mayor Meanswell kissed his niece and whispered, through the lump in his throat, "Well done, my dear."

The party got started soon after that. The meadow gradually filled with people and food and more people and more food, and bowls of fruit punch, and chairs, and more food, and a carousel for the children, and ribbons strung from the trees to make them beautiful, and footballs, and basketballs, and hammocks slung from the trees, and even more food. Stephanie's housemates arrived from Metropolis, leggy and elegant and graceful, and looked Sportacus up and down with awe.

"You look beautiful," Jennifer told Stephanie, linking arms with her affectionately. "All radiant and glowing…are you still coming back next semester?"

"That's the plan," said Stephanie, smiling. They had known for some weeks now that she would not be returning, but she and Sportacus had quietly agreed that they wouldn't tell anyone about their new plans until after the wedding.

"He's absolutely nothing like what I was expecting," Grace confided to Trixie, as they surreptitiously freshened up their drinks with a couple of fingers of _sake_ out of the small silver flask tucked in Trixie's handbag.

"Well, he is kind of hard to explain," said Trixie, laughing. "But when you meet him, when you see them together, it does all make a ridiculous sort of sense."

"And am I the only one besides Stephanie who ever noticed he's too outrageously sexy for words?" Grace asked.

"Hmm…now you're asking. Well, he's not really my type. And then, he's never been interested in any of us - any of us except Stephanie - it's like trying to flirt with an extremely good-looking brick wall. And he's just so completely, single-mindedly devoted to her there's no point even thinking about it. But still…"

"Yeah," said Grace wistfully. "Oh, well." She glanced over to where Stingy, Pixel, Ziggy and the surfer dudes were gleefully re-enacting Stingy's part in the ceremony. "There's plenty of others to go around, I suppose. Any recommendations?"

"Stay away from the best man," advised Trixie.

"Taken?" asked Grace.

"Well…not exactly," said Trixie thoughtfully. "But I think he might have - other plans for this evening…" She smiled encouragingly. "But all of the rest of that lot are available. I guarantee it."

"Are they the MIT crowd?"

"They're the ones. Stingy calls them the Totally Radical Surfer Dudes, but they're all aeroanautics majors or something. Oh, and there's Pixel, of course, but he's kind of strange, and Ziggy, but he's a bit young and eager. I'd go for one of the Surfer Dudes if I were you."

Grace tipped her glass at Trixie and slid deliciously away.

--

"How you doing, man?" asked Chip, clinking glasses with Stingy. "Looking forward to totally embarrassing everyone with your Best Man's speech later?"

"Nope."

"Hey, come on, it'll be fine, we'll cheer you on."

"Not looking forward to it," said Stingy briefly, "because I'm not doing one." Chip looked at him reproachfully. "Not my idea," he added. "They both insisted. No receiving line, no speeches, no toasts. No official first dance, although they said that was just because they didn't want to have to wait to dance with each other." He shrugged.

"That's hardly a wedding at all," said Chip after thinking about this. "That's just - "

"A big party," finished Stingy, and smiled. "That was their point too."

Drew ambled over. "So, Chip," he said, touching knuckles, "who do you like the look of out of that little bunch of honeys?" They looked Stephanie's friends up and down admiringly. "That gorgeous little blonde girl Grace? Or Jennifer? Or Summer?" Stingy rolled his eyes. "Ah, don't give us that look, poker-ass, you've got blood in your veins like the rest of us. You can't pretend you haven't noticed."

Stingy said nothing, but his eyes wandered to Trixie, tiny and exotic in her cheong-sam, her hair wound into a bun and pinned in place with two bamboo sticks ornamented with rice flowers. Drew followed his gaze and looked at him in incredulous horror.

"That's your _sister,_ man," he said, disgusted. "What the hell's _wrong_ with you?" Stingy looked at him blankly for a minute, then laughed very loudly for a while.

"Not since our parents got divorced," he said dryly, and went to get another drink.

Drew watched him leave, then turned to Pixel, confused.

"So are they his sisters, or not?" he asked. Pixel shrugged and smiled.

"As far as I know, Stingy, Trixie and Stephanie are all the only children of completely unrelated parents," he said. "But I wouldn't take any notice of anything I say. Stingy's always telling me I've got no idea about what's really going on."

--

"Are you looking forward to going back to Japan?" Stephanie asked Trixie. "I feel kind of bad making you come all the way back here just for this."

"As if I'd miss it, Pinkie," said Trixie reproachfully. "Yeah, I'm looking forward to going back - I really want to see the Geisha districts in Kyoto - but it's nice to be home again. So…are you happy?"

Stephanie sighed blissfully. "You just can't imagine," she said softly. "I knew I loved him, but I never thought it could ever be so, so - and it's not just the - the physical thing, although _that_ is just beyond belief…"

(She'd never have told me _that_ this time last year, thought Trixie to herself.)

"Oh, all the words in my head are clichés - but…well, you get the idea." She looked shyly at Trixie. "So…any chance of me dancing at _your_ wedding one day?"

"We're not all cut out for idyllic happiness, Pinkie," laughed Trixie. "But, yeah, I hope it happens. One day. When I've been all around the world and seen everything and tried everything and conquered the world, and slept with a thousand beautiful men and maybe a few beautiful women…yeah. Maybe. But first I need to meet the right man, and so far, they all get boring once the initial excitement wears off..."

Stephanie picked the slice of lemon out of her drink and sucked it thoughtfully. Trixie watched Stephanie out of the corner of her eye, looking her up and down.

"You know," said Trixie idly, "You look amazing today. In fact, I was thinking just these last few days that you look very…_radiant_." Stephanie blushed a little, and took the slice of lemon out of her mouth. "Is there anything you want to tell me?" Trixie asked, smiling, knowing she was onto something.

"Could I possibly borrow my wife?" Sportacus vaulted lightly over the back of the row of chairs and took Stephanie's hand.

"Be my guest." Sportacus led Stephanie away.

"Are you all right?" he asked, putting his arm around her. He looked around to make sure no-one was watching, then laid his free hand tenderly against her abdomen. "Not too tired? Or too sick?" He looked at her slice of lemon in amusement. "Or running short of lemons?"

She shook her head.

"I feel wonderful." She smiled. "There's nothing like throwing up your breakfast every morning to set you up for the day. I'm quite happy here with my lemon. And my husband. You really don't need to fuss so much."

"Oh, yes, I really think I do," he said, smiling and kissing her gently.

--

Exhausted by his extensive duties, the Reverend Rottenwell had retired to one of the hammocks with a bottle of smuggled-in gin and a large, over-iced cake. His snores drifted serenely through the air.

"I think you are all quite, quite mad," said Miss Emmerson severely to Pixel, looking disapprovingly at the Reverend. Then she looked over to where Stephanie and Sportacus were dancing, gazing into each other's eyes and smiling helplessly all the while, and her face softened. "Although she does look like a completely different girl."

Pixel shrugged.

"No point in talking to me about it," he said simply. "I've lived here all my life, this is all normal where I'm from." He held up a piece of plastic with wires sticking out of the side. "If you were looking to buy an earpiece for a private communications network, what would matter most to you? Absolute size, or how funky it looked?"

"And there's even less point in talking to _me _about _that_," said Miss Emmerson. "I'm a fifty-six-year-old retired schoolteacher." She looked again at Stephanie. "Pixel, is there any chance that Stephanie is going to have a baby?"

"Well, they both love children, and I don't think the differences are big enough to stop them having one - so I'm sure it's on the cards at some point," said Pixel absently. "Oh…hang on…you mean, do I think she actually _is_?" He squinted at her. "It doesn't look like it to me. But then I don't really know a lot about girls."

"No, you're right," said Miss Emmerson thoughtfully. "It doesn't show, not yet…it's just…a look she has." Reverend Rottenwell gave a particularly enormous snore; it almost sounded like a snort of disgust. "Are you _sure_ he's a proper minister of religion? It was a _most_ peculiar service."

"Well," said Pixel diplomatically, "they were planning to be married by the Mayor, but then when Rob - when Reverend Rottenwell arrived, they both decided they'd rather have him perform the service instead. I think they knew it would be… peculiar…but they wanted him to be part of it anyway." He smiled. "You see, Lazytown is just that kind of place."

--

"Robbie," hissed Stephanie. He snored ostentatiously. "All right…Reverend Rottenwell. I know you're awake." Another enormous snore. "Okay, well, I'll tell you while you're asleep then. I've been thinking about something you said to me…you told me that no-one is ever a hundred per cent everything." Another snore. "You're just not going to make this easy for me, are you?"

"I should point out," he said, without opening his eyes, "that the remark you're referring to was made in the context of a rather more - ahem - _debauched_ occasion than your marriage to the world's most boringly well-behaved man. In fact - ah, yes, now _there's _a happy memory to bring up on your wedding day - I really do believe I was trying to get you to try me on for size instead. Did you tell him about that, by the way, Barbie? I bet he was horribly jealous."

"Only Robbie Rotten gets to call me Barbie," said Stephanie firmly.

"Oh, all right then. _Stephanie._" His eyes remained firmly closed. "Carry on. I'm listening. You just haven't said anything interesting enough to make me open my eyes yet."

"Well…the thing is, we neither of us had the chance to say _thank you_. Because every time we try, you just…"

"Oh, dear God. Lose the hearts-and-flowers line _right this minute_, Stephanie, before I vomit all over your wedding dress."

"Yeah…that's kind of what I was talking about. But anyway…here's the thing…if you hadn't told me what you did, there's just no way we'd be together now." He opened one eye so he could glare at her. "Don't get me wrong, Robbie, most of the time you're a completely terrible person. You really enjoy upsetting people, you hate seeing anyone else having fun, and you spend your whole life trying to make all of us as miserable as you are. You're rude, obnoxious, interfering, spiteful, annoying, selfish and mean." He nodded approvingly. "But…I think what I wanted to say was…we're both so, so grateful that you saved the one time you weren't any of those things…to help me." She kissed him softly on the cheek.

"That's _Reverend Rottenville_ to you," muttered Robbie, wiping his cheek with a spotted silk handkerchief and scooching further down into the hammock.

--

Ziggy was sitting happily at the edge of the field, watching the party, when Stingy came and sat down next to him. He smiled and offered Ziggy a drink from the silver flask in his pocket.

"Hey," said Ziggy appreciatively, "_Thanks_." He took a large mouthful, and choked. "Wow. That's not nearly as nice as I thought it would be…does it get any better, Stingy, or is it always that horrible and we all just pretend to like it because it's cool?"

"Try a shot in your fruit juice instead," said Stingy kindly, pouring a small measure into Ziggy's cup.

"And will I get really drunk and fall over and be sick, or will I just be more funny and amusing and seem more grown-up?"

"You'll have to wait and see," said Stingy, trying to keep a straight face.

"Aww, that's not fair," said Ziggy, without the slightest rancour. "The only good thing about being the youngest is that you all have to tell me about what's coming up next…hey, was it fun being in the wedding party?"

Stingy smiled. It was hard not to warm to Ziggy's endless enthusiasm. "It was okay."

"And didn't Stephanie look beautiful?"

"Yes, she certainly did."

"And Trixie looked really good, too. Not _beautiful_, exactly," said Ziggy consideringly, "but very…very…"

"Oh, hell yes," said Stingy without thinking. Ziggy looked surprised.

"Do you think she's pretty, then?" he asked innocently. "I didn't know you'd noticed." He looked at Stingy, but he just took another swig from his hip-flask. "I mean, _I _notice every girl I see, but you just seem so above it all, you hardly ever like _anyone_." He paused. Stingy didn't say anything. "And, you two are always arguing, about anything, just any sort of rubbish that other people never even notice." He paused again. Stingy still didn't say anything. "You know, Stingy, I never knew you liked her all that much…how come you two never got together? Are you going to ask her out today? Hey, maybe one day you'll get married too, what do you think?"

"You're a complete idiot, Ziggy," said Stingy savagely. He took the cup of spiked fruit juice out of Ziggy's hand, emptied it out onto the grass in front of him and stalked away.

"What did I say?" asked Ziggy of the empty air.

--

They stood hand in hand and looked down at their friends as they danced in the light of the setting sun.

"I think it's time to leave," Sportacus whispered in Stephanie's ear.

"Right now?"

"Before anyone notices we're gone," he said, smiling. "They're all having a splendid time. They'll never miss us. Ladder!…_What?_" He looked in complete bafflement at the bunch of tin cans that was tied to the bottom of the rope ladder. "What are _these_ doing here?"

"Oh. It's a sort of joke…you tie tin cans to the back of the car that the couple are going to leave in."

He threw back his head and laughed. "Why?"

"I don't know, it's just…something you do."

"Hmm. Fair enough. Well, am I allowed to throw them away, or is that bad luck?"

"No, I think you're allowed to do that." She watched as he snapped the string, tied them together and threw them high in the air. They described a high, curving arc and landed neatly in a recycling bin two hundred feet away. "Er…they might have done some _other_ things, as well…"

"Like _what_?"

"Erm…I'm not really sure…" she grimaced.

He kissed her softly on the tender place just below her ear.

"If we get up into that airship, and there is _anything at all_ that gets in the way of me and you…I have been looking forward all day to taking you out of this frock, sweetheart, and I can assure you it's going to take a lot more than a few tin cans to distract me…" he picked her up in his arms. "I'm told this is the traditional way to bring your new wife home?"

Trixie watched from behind a tree as he carried her up the ladder, doubled over with her fist stuffed in her mouth to stop herself from laughing.

They disappeared into the airship. There was a moment of perplexed silence, followed by an exasperated shout and a squeal of indignation. Trixie took her fist out of her mouth, laughed until she cried, then repaired her make-up, and drifted contentedly back to the party.

An hour or so later, a blue paper aeroplane suddenly landed in her lap.

_Nice try, Trixie._

_But you're forgetting one thing._

_He _is_ an above average Hero._


	12. Acknowledgements, etc

**Please don't sue me, I didn't mean it, honest**

This is my first proper creative work since I helped out a friend with writer's block and wrote a chapter of his novel about ten years ago. Ten years of nothing, then my kids get into _Lazytown,_ and suddenly I've written 50,000 words in less than a month. Such is the power of the man in the bright blue tracksuit.

So, yeah: _Theory of Everything. _I've always thought superheroes got kind of a raw deal, romantically speaking. They charge around heroically, saving us all from Death and Disaster and Super-villains, and we're all enormously grateful. Then they go home and…live with their aunt. Or their butler. Or teach angst-ridden teenagers who don't really want to learn. Or get shouted at by their editor for missing the money shot, in the big rescue they themselves just orchestrated. Or mop floors in an office. It's all very sad and unsatisfactory.

But then again - who would actually _want_ to live with a Superhero? Batman has too much childhood baggage. Could you ask Superman to help with the washing-up when there's a busload of kids hanging off the Golden Gate bridge? Spiderman spends too much time taking his own photograph to be really attractive. V would probably send in a stunt double occasionally, just to see if you noticed. Wolverine - very hard dog to keep on the porch. Hong Kong Fooey - wrong species. So it goes…

And then there's Sportacus…

He's so much fun to write for because the kind of superhero who deals with _normal_ problems, like "I'm stuck up a tree", or "I can't build this fence", or "the kids are playing near my washing". He does _normal_ stuff, like cooking, tidying up, making sandwiches. (Ever noticed the magnificent squalor that superheroes usually seem to live in? Especially Batman…he's definitely the worst, the scruffy little beggar.) Sportacus never buys the kids a bar of chocolate because he forgot to pack the bananas and then wonders why they're pinging off the walls all afternoon. He is even willing to let them spit their bubble-gum out into his hand, and without missing a beat, demand the rest of it too. _He_ deserves to be happy. But then, what with _Lazytown_ being a Kid's TV show and everything, I don't see them getting around to that any time soon.

I nearly didn't post _Theory of Everything_ at all, because it's my first time on and it just seemed a bit damn much for my first post to be the first four chapters of such a massive, sprawling piece of work. So THANK YOU to all my reviewers who made the new girl so welcome and encouraged me to write the rest.

And extra big thanks to Melissa Ivory, Aenea Lamia, The Anonymous Mouse, and OnlyBlueForever, who reviewed me lots and lots, always kindly, and gave me virtual baked goods just when I needed them.

Oh yes, on the off-chance that this really is the difference between Getting My Ass Sued and Getting Away With It -

I don't own Lazytown (it belongs to Magnus Scheving), I don't own any of the characters (ditto), and I am not making any money off this. I just spend too much time in dull meetings thinking about them.

Kitty


End file.
